


The Word of My Father

by seasalticecream32



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, F/F, M/M, Maleficent AU, Sleeping Beauty AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasalticecream32/pseuds/seasalticecream32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, well, well. He is pretty, isn’t he? I’d heard rumors.” The man leaned until his nose was level with Arthur’s. He reached out a finger and ran it over Arthur’s bottom lip, “Lips as red as fresh blood, hair like spun gold. They left out all the chiseled muscle.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VanHelsing019](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanHelsing019/gifts).



“How exciting. An engagement party.”

Arthur turned away from the blushing servant, back ramrod straight. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere and dripped with power.

“Pity I wasn’t invited. As a matter of fact, there’s not a single sorcerer here.”

The s’s curved in soft touches against Arthur’s ears, spilling magic like forbidden fruit. Sparks of gold danced from dying candles. No one and nothing spoke in the dining hall now. Even Uther stood from his seat, hands on the table, beady black eyes glaring down the walls as if they’d betrayed him. From what Arthur could see, not even the servants were affected by the voice in quite the same way he was. A mix of excitement and apprehension boiled through his blood as the room darkened.

Everyone was watching the windows when it happened. Gold and gray smoke curled and twisted away, revealing bits and pieces of the voice. Lips thin and quirked, eyes flashing, back straight and steps sure as the new figure walked down the table. Glass cracked and goblets burst and by the time Arthur actually looked at his father, the man was pale as a sheet.

But the sorcerer wasn’t headed towards Uther.

Instead, he stopped, eyebrow arched and mouth twitching into a smile as a stormy blue gaze swept over Arthur. Arthur hadn’t realized he’d been holding his drink until it clattered to the floor.

“Well, well, well. He is pretty, isn’t he? I’d heard rumors.” The man leaned until his nose was level with Arthur’s. He reached out a finger and ran it over Arthur’s bottom lip, “Lips red as fresh blood, hair like spun gold. They left out all the chiseled muscle.”

Arthur shivered and forced himself to keep eye contact. Magic moved like a caress against his skin, ruffling through his shirt and hair. His mouth fell open before he snapped it shut. Everything burned red when the mystery man let out a loud, sharp laugh.

Arthur shook his head and cleared his throat. He forced himself to look away from the fae face. “I’m sorry, but who are you again?”

“Come now, Arthur. Surely you’ve not been locked up in that tower too long,” the Sorcerer’s eyes flashed gold at him, but his smirk was directed at Uther. “I’m the big bad that’s been building up magic in Camelot’s borders. I’m Merlin.”

 The name rippled in a soft hiss around the room. Servants looked nervously around. The nobility paled. Everyone had heard of Merlin.

Merlin, who turned the water to salt for a week when Alice was burned.

Merlin, who set every animal in Camelot free when the unicorn’s horn was mounted to Uther’s wall.

Merlin, who sent a storm that shook the foundations of the castle for weeks when he learned of Kilgarrah trapped in its dungeons.

Merlin, the name said behind hands at the market. The name people murmured when they thought of uprising and power and change. The name connected with hope far more often than either Arthur or Uther cared to admit. Though for different reasons, usually.

Arthur tilted his head and took in the young, lithe form of this supposed revolutionist. He recalled the gentle touch against his lips, fingers calloused, eyes glinting and sharp. He saw a thousand futures ahead of him and there wasn’t a single one without Merlin in it.

“Well then, Merlin. Consider yourself formally invited by Prince Arthur himself. Conjure up a seat, or whatever it is you do, and we’ll get on with it.” Arthur extended a hand, palm up and waited to help Merlin down.

Another laugh struck Merlin, loud and cracking through the silence.

“I think I’m going to like you.” Merlin turned towards Uther, who was no longer pale but instead a blistering mix of red and purple rage. “Not to worry, Pendragon. I brought a gift, as is expected. My business can wait until after.”

There was a moment of heavy magic. It spun in dark smoke and gold sparks until a glittering and heavy bundle thudded in front of him. Uther spluttered incoherently at the head of the table, having found his voice to object just as the package landed.

Arthur couldn’t tell what it was, but he wasn’t really interested in it beyond the fact that it was probably magic and Arthur hadn’t ever actually seen a magical gift. That he was aware of, at least.

“About that seat,” Merlin said and waved his hand. This time no showy swirls buzzed in the air. Instead, the seat beside Arthur became empty. The man who previously sat there was blinking on the floor. “I see this one is free.”

And without further ado, Merlin was beside Arthur with his boots on the table.

The man ate like he was going to die. He cleared the meat off chicken and licked his fingers with horrible, sinful sucking sounds that made Arthur shift in his seat. He bit into pies and moaned every first bite of a slice before devouring it. He drank nothing and waved magic over everything and he leaned entirely too close to Arthur for Arthur to think straight.

It didn’t help that his skin was like fire and his laugh was like honey and lightning, which didn’t make any sense, but Arthur thought it anyway. And Merlin laughed a lot.

“So, what part of Camelot do you live in?” Arthur asked, alcohol and cheer rendering his brain too slow to pick up the stupidity of his question.

“Ah yes, I live in the part where you can’t get to and raid my house and hang me up in the morning.” Merlin grinned and winked at him. “If your dad doesn’t put me in the dungeons tonight. Not like that will matter.”

“Ah, yes. Just testing.” Except Arthur blushed and Merlin grinned and there was no point to pretending except for Arthur’s pride.

“So, I thought you weren’t married yet? That’s a lovely ring on your finger.” Merlin waved his hand over his food again, nodded once as if satisfied, and ate a fourth or fifth (sixth? seventh? where did it all go?) piece of chicken. “Bit premature aren’t we?” And if he wasn’t obvious enough already, Merlin sidled up to Arthur and linked their arms, fluttering his lashes innocently as Uther choked a seat over.

Arthur would certainly be in trouble for this in the morning. He looked at his finger, where he was twirling his mother’s ring absently with his thumb. “It’s just marriage. She has a lover already. Mad for her. The three of us are very close.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open for a moment. This time his cheeks flushed, and Arthur didn’t miss the not-too-subtle glance downward.

“Not _that_ close. Let’s just say that we came to a mutual agreement. I marry Gwen and Morgana shuts up. They live happily ever after.” Uther’s coughing grew louder. Arthur didn’t look in his direction. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. Somewhere. Hell if Arthur knew.

“Doesn’t answer the question about the ring.” Merlin’s slim fingers slid down his arm, stretching over Arthur’s hand like spider legs, sending chills over his skin.

“It was my mum’s.” His hand flexed instinctively, as if he could capture memories he’d never had.

Merlin’s lips turned soft, his eyes narrowed into an expression Arthur was all too familiar with. Everyone knew Ygraine's fate. Probably Merlin most of all. Her death had banished magic forever from the good graces of Uther’s court.

“Yes, well.” Merlin removed his hand from Arthur’s, his gaze lowered so that he missed the way Arthur’s thumb twitched at the loss of contact. Arthur watched as Merlin tugged down the laces on his shirt to pull out a glistening, white figure. “My father left me something, too.”

Merlin held his palm out. The figurine was connected to leather twine and it twisted and curled in the light of the room. It took a moment to make out the shape of a snout and the long neck, the sharp angles of wings and coiled tail. It was eerie the way the creature snapped and gleamed, as if the dragon was alive and angry.

And perhaps the silence should not have been so sweet, with a stranger. But Arthur was finding very little of that mattered. This Merlin hadn’t called him Prince once, and he laughed as if he’d never heard of the term royalty, and his eyes were too soft and his voice too gentle and his everything too much. Maybe it was a spell or maybe Arthur was just doomed by whatever cruel fate his father’s sins had curse upon him, but Arthur really couldn’t imagine _not_ having this man under him at the end of the night.

So he leaned over, voice low and brave, and whispered into Merlin’s ear. “If you don’t end up in the dungeons tonight, you should certainly stay for the rest of the celebration. Engagement parties go on for weeks.” He slid his hand over soft leather, felt Merlin’s thigh tense beneath his palm.

A flicker of unreadable emotion lit Merlin’s eyes, something like guilt. Arthur had the sudden, horrific thought that he had misread the casual flirtation for something more, but then it was gone and Merlin was smiling.

“The heir to my oppressor asking me to stay for a while? Wherever would I sleep?”

“I can think of a lot of things to do besides sleeping.”

Apparently they weren’t as quiet as Arthur had hoped. Uther stood, shoving his chair back with a horrible racket.

“You will not—” He’d thundered, face apoplectic as he glared down at the two of them. He’d caught himself just in time, the nervous chatter that remained at a low hum through the evening died. Every wide eye was glued to the three, gazes flicking between them. “We’ve entertained this criminal long enough, Arthur. He’s clearly enthralled you. Guards! Take him away.”

Arthur had nearly forgotten the sizzle and pop of Merlin’s power from earlier. The transformation back into ethereal magical entity was instantaneous when the guards sprung forward. Merlin was back on the table as if it was his pedestal to own, among the bits of feast and trinkets.

When he spoke, it was with the same voice that had slithered through Arthur’s ears and zipped along his nerves and rolled over his skin. “Uther Pendragon. You made a promise. Twenty one years ago, holding your infant son, you made a promise to a sorcerer.”

“I will not be held to the word of criminals.” Uther didn’t stutter or grovel or shake, but the look he cast Arthur was one he’d not seen before. “That bargain was made long ago, and your side’s part of the deal was broken.”

“It was no bargain, Uther. You swore an oath and you will honor it.” Merlin grinned and leaned forward. He plucked up a vine of grapes and held them significantly in front of him. They withered and shrunk until each shriveled fruit fell to the table with the clink of stone. “To deny our request is to bear the consequences.”

“I paid my price long ago. You can take nothing from me.” Now Arthur was certain that the quick glance his father cast him of a desperation he had never seen before.

“You paid the price of life and death, Uther! That was no part of your promise. You may have rid yourself of Balinor, but you did not rid yourself of this curse.”

“Curse?” Arthur crossed his arms and shook his head. “Don’t be an idiot, Merlin. No one has been cursed here since your stunt with the salt. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Merlin didn’t step down from the table so much as melt into the space beside him. “You deserve so much better than all this secrecy.” A wisp of touch against Arthur's shoulder, a light press of lips to his cheek left the impression of sad, bone deep guilt. Something sorrowful. Before he could capture it, Merlin reappeared in front of Uther, eyes like stone, hand held in front of him. “You will pay the price of forfeit if you do not uphold your word, Pendragon. A day in court, or Camelot falls.”

And then Merlin was gone. The velvet of his voice, of his presence, clung to everything, but the flesh of the man was nowhere to be found.

“So, Father… What exactly does he mean by curse?”

***

Arthur slammed into his room with bits and pieces of his argument with his father still swimming in his head.

_Your mother would have wanted…_

_Magic was too great a threat._

_You had to be protected._

Somehow, by the end of it, everything was Arthur’s fault. He’d been too young to protect himself. He’d been born of magic, cursed by his mother’s death. He’d been a danger to Camelot, a wailing child calling trouble with his tiny lungs. His damned misfortune had nearly torn Camelot apart.

After Arthur was born, Camelot was attacked by magic four times in as many months. The bans on magic were having no impact. He’d needed protection. A deal had to be made. The way Uther spoke of the necessary heir, the unavoidable sacrifices, Arthur almost felt as if they were talking about someone else entirely.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost missed the already familiar prickle of magic against his skin, rolling over him like a warning wave.

Even if he had, he couldn’t have missed the warm chuckle into his ear or the thin body that materialized by his side. “I see Uther is just as infuriating for his children. So how did the talk go?”

Arthur was starkly aware of high cheekbones and full lips quirking at a roguish angle. “It went about as well as you’d expect it to go. Everything’s my fault and my father has everything under control.” Arthur rolled his eyes and his shoulders. “If you’ve come up here to ensnare me further, I’ll have you know you’re wasting your time.”

Merlin frowned, and it looked ridiculously adorable for a man who’d just threatened the royal line. “You don’t honestly believe that rubbish, do you? Magic doesn’t work that way.”

Arthur only snorted. “Like you would tell me what magic can do.”

“You’re right. You’d never understand my power.” Merlin grinned and stepped forward, a challenge in the upward tilt of his jaw. “Nothing at all like your knightly sticks and dress up.”

Arthur growled, hands on his hips. “A sword is honorable. No spells or incantations, just skill and hard work.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Only His Highness Prat of Camelot would think magic didn’t require skill or hard work.” Merlin flicked up his thin wrist, pointing at Arthur’s already untucked tunic.

Arthur tried really hard not to think of the brush of magic up his torso and chest. He focused instead on the absolute ruination of his red shirt as it split and fell. “Oi. That was my favorite.”

His irritation might have been more believable if he hadn’t stalked forward, crowding Merlin until his back hit the wall. Even he was surprised when his fingers curled into dark hair, thumbs brushing against a pink lipped smirk.

“You’ve definitely put a spell on me,” Arthur said between kisses to the long stretch of Merlin’s neck. His head spun when he felt hands, slim but strong, grip his hips. Nails bit into his lower back when he nipped at the tender junction of jaw and neck.

“Magic really doesn’t work that way.” Merlin’s voice was breathless and his hands ran over Arthur’s back in streaks of hot lightning. Whatever protests he may have had disappeared when Arthur forced his fingers under Merlin’s vest to pull him forward, closer and warmer and more.

There was a distinct possibility that Merlin’s magic was pulling off clothes now, because one minute Arthur was struggling to wiggle touches under Merlin’s vest and the next he was ripping the loose shirt underneath it to kiss below, to run his tongue over Merlin’s chest and bite along his collar bone and touch all the new skin. He barely heard himself mumbling “wanted this all night” and “all that damned gold smoke like you were some kind of spirit” when Merlin’s laugh rumbled against his lips and he realized he wanted to kiss that laugh right out of the ridiculous Sorcerer’s mouth.

He pulled back to take in his work. Messy black hair moved wildly to the right, a line of red where Arthur had kissed and bit and licked Merlin’s neck lead all the way his narrow chest and wrecked clothes. Perhaps best of all was that Merlin, powerful mysterious rebellious Merlin, looked entirely unraveled at the end of Arthur’s hands. Even his blue and gold gaze was clouded and hooded as he waited for Arthur to lean back in and continue his exploring.

“There’s something about you, Merlin.” Arthur felt Merlin jump under his palm, as if he hadn’t expected Arthur to say his name. “I think I’m going to like you.”

And then Merlin’s eyes went soft again, that unreadable expression seeping onto his face. It was Merlin who leaned forward, fingertip under Arthur’s chin, to place a kiss, _softgentlesweetsweetsweet_ , against Arthur’s lips. When he pulled away it was too soon, with a sigh of disappointment.

“You still taste like wine,” he’d said. Then he waved his hand, closed his eyes, and Arthur was falling into black and warm and cushion without the barest warning.

He woke the next morning and wondered if the entire ordeal had been only a dream.

That’s certainly how his father had acted. There was no mention of the curse at breakfast, or of Merlin. The servants were skittish around Arthur. Morgana gave him wide eyed looks, as if she was trying to impart some vital information to him through urgent expressions alone. Otherwise, no one would have guessed that his engagement party had been crashed by a mad Sorcerer. It was enough to grate on the most saintly person’s nerves.

Princes weren’t exactly renowned for their great virtues of patience.

“So, urm… Father. About this curse and whatnot. We didn’t really get into the specifics last night.” Arthur watched Uther go still while he took a long drink. “What exactly does this curse entail?”

“The specifics are not important, Arthur. We don’t bow down to threats from criminals.”

Arthur raised his brow as Morgana’s eyes got impossibly wider and she waved her hand franticly. “Not exactly a threat is it? If you asked them to do something and they named a price, then you agreed to pay that price, it sounds a lot more like… Well, like you gave your word. As a King.” Uther put down his fork and stared at a banner above Arthur’s head. “Or something like that.”

“When you were a child I pleaded with those who would harm you to cease-fire until you could defend yourself. In return they demanded that I allow them their time in court to plead on the return of magic, should it still be banned.” Uther snapped his attention to Arthur, face pinched and fists clenched. “In order to prevent attack on my infant son I agreed. However, I would hardly call your childhood safe from magic.”

Which was technically true, Arthur guessed. He had seen plenty of magic and magic users in his life time. Sorcerers burned at the stake or heads rolling from the swing of the executioner’s axe. Droughts and plagues and wars supposedly caused by curses from vengeful wizards. Anything directly related to magic that ever affected Arthur always just sort of worked itself out.

It had never occurred to him to question that before. Now, everything slid into place.

“You mean, you asked them to prevent magic from harming me and in return all they wanted was a chance to not be punished by death for existing? Why are we killing sorcerers now?” He remembered every moment that he should have certainly died and yet, miraculously, he’d survived. How many _miracles_ were just hidden sorcerers? Had he ever succeeded on his own?

“Arthur, your life has been constantly under threat from magic. There was the questing beast—”

“Which was killed in battle by Lancelot, despite Gaius claiming it could be killed only by magic.” Arthur frowned. Morgana coughed loudly, watching Arthur as if he was considerably stupid.

“We had a stroke of luck there. Unless you are accusing Lancelot of sorcery?” Uther raised an eyebrow, pointedly ignoring that Morgana was signaling at Arthur in increasingly noticeable ways. “And then there was Valiant.”

“Who conveniently lost control over his shield after successfully using it against three other opponents.” Arthur’s stomach churned. He pushed his half empty plate away from him. Three others had died, but he’d been spared because of some horrible agreement years ago. Had they even tried to save the others?

“The point is that magic has been used against you after the agreement. It is no longer a question of my honor.”

“Valiant wasn’t even a sorcerer!” Arthur's voice was too loud and he gripped his drink too tightly. “You’re being unreasonable. Everything about this is unreasonable! You have killed sorcerers for existing, yet you would ask them to protect me!”

“Arthur, control yourself.” Uther’s voice was cold. “You’re dismissed. Attend to your sister before she makes a fool of herself.”

Arthur looked to Morgana again, to catch her red faced and glaring.

“Attend to me? I don’t need attending to.” She protested even as she followed Arthur from the room.

They’d only crossed into the hallway when he heard his name called, an ease of command he wondered if he’d ever ignore. He sighed and faced his father, not surprised to find himself face to face with Uther, proud and tall and crowned. His father donned the Kingly persona whenever his next orders were Not to Be Questioned, usually on threat of Punishment in the Dungeons. Arthur was the only Prince he’d ever known who spent more time in the dungeons than out of them.

“I will hear no more discussion of this Merlin character.” Uther adjusted his crown and straightened his shirt. “If he is found within the walls of Camelot, he will be detained for trial, understood?”

Arthur ignored the bristle of his anger and nodded. “Of course, Father.”

And then the conversation was over. An argument that had barely been begun was ended without any compromise. It was frustrating mostly because it was not in any way unusual.

Morgana was quiet and fuming all the way down the hallway and into the courtyard. Arthur knew her well enough to know that an explosion of opinion was brewing and building, waiting to lunge at him when he least expected. All of her impatience from their breakfast simmered into quickened steps and fists swinging at her sides.

He’d just taken half a step onto the courtyard stairs when she burst.

“He’s a fool. His stubbornness will be the ruin of all of us,” she snapped. She crossed her arms and stood at the top step.

It wasn’t until he took a second to really look at her that he realized her eyes were wet and her hands shook. Her lips, which had been in their natural snarl, trembled. “Um, Morgana?” And then she was crying and pulling him into a hug and it was hands down the most awkward experience he’d ever had with his sister.

She never cried. And whenever one of them needed comforting, it was almost always Arthur. Comfort usually was a slap to the back of the head and an insult given with a sigh and a soft smile. All of this hugging and sobbing nonsense was foreign.

When she finally pulled away (only after half the knights had stopped and openly stared like the improper brutes they were), she hiccuped, splotchy faced. “When you go, you have to promise you’ll take me with you.”

That’s when he knew without a doubt that Morgana had finally lost her mind. “I haven’t planned to actually go anywhere, Morgana. It would be rather rude to leave during my own engagement celebration.”

And she gave him her amused smile, the one that twitched at the edges and threatened to spill back into a real and true emotion. She placed a hand against his cheek and shook her head, chuckling a moment.

“When he comes back, Arthur, you have to promise not to forget me. When you leave, you have to promise to take me with you. Gwen and I will be ready. You have to promise.”

Before he could even consider it he nodded. It wasn’t the first time Morgana had said something cryptic and terrifying that made his heart shake his ribs. More than once he’d rubbed at a knot of fear in his chest when he thought of that light to Morgana that almost looked, almost felt, like magic.

“Good. Now, you better get to practicing with your knights. Lord knows they’ll get bored without you. And then where will we be?”

***

Arthur got more than one wary look when he marched onto the field. The anger and confusion of this morning burned in his arms and in his steps but he couldn’t bring himself to care when he glared at them. The whole group flinched under his scrutiny.

He may have been too brutal. The clang of swords on shields drowned out the questions in his head. The heat of muscle moving and metal swinging and bruises blooming was enough to dull the pounding of embarrassment in his head. If he pretended that the most intimidating of his knights was his father then no one had to know. He’s sure that knight had done _something_ to deserve the bludgeoning. Most knights did.

He fought Valiant again in the large build of a country born knight, pushing and blocking and maneuvering until Sir Percival panted on the ground hand up in quick signal of mercy.

He watched Lancelot closer, harder, waiting for gold to light his eyes or for the shift of magic in the air like a storm until Gwaine elbowed him in the ribs and whispered a half-joking warning of indecency. Gwaine of all people knew about the danger of staring.

He dismissed the eager young knights early, seeing in their crushed faces the reminder of _necessary sacrifices_. He watched them walk away, confused and hurt, and tried not to imagine the number of men who had died in his place, unprotected from magic and magic users.

Still, by the time practice was over he was a knot of sore muscle and tight nerves. The field was muddy and messy and marred with the cut of a dozen pairs of boots. And despite the distraction, Arthur found his mood hadn’t improved nearly as much as it should have.

 _Cursed_ ran through his mind and prickled his skin like a bad fever. He marched to his room, slammed his door, and shucked off his chainmail and armor into a heap on the floor. He didn’t bother moving from the bed until his stomach growled and a servant knocked at his door with a meek warning about the coming festivities.

Certainly, all Arthur wanted to do upon finding out that Camelot was cursed and it was all his fault (somehow) was to go down and drink until he fell over. He wasn’t sure that’s what the woman meant by festivities, however. So he didn’t bother to move at all until he heard Morgana pound at his door, voice cutting through his gloom with declarations of duty and appearances.

He didn’t really decide to actually move until she accused him of moping and being a baby.

He rolled off his bed with a groan and a curse, catching himself moments before he crashed onto his face. His arms and legs screamed foul at having to move so soon after his abuse, and he wondered if it was too late to send down a servant claiming he’d fallen ill.

He imagined his Father's scowl at the news, telling the nearest nobleman that his bratty son was throwing a tantrum. The image pushed him to his feet and over to the basin.

He wouldn’t be the most put together person at the feast but then, who was going to point it out to him? Probably no one. One of the many perks of being a prince.

“I’m coming. Shut up.” He yanked on a blue shirt, blushing when he found the rags of his red tunic. He went for his softest pants, his worn boots. He almost grinned when he pictured his father seeing him, scandalized that he dared be comfortable in a room full of peers.

Morgana hadn’t stopped banging on his door and yelling at him by the time he was ready to step out. They were a contradiction, her hair in twists and his barely combed, her dress elegant and beaded, his shirt possibly not even clean. She only tilted her head and shrugged, looping her arm through his. She escorted him more than he escorted her but by the time they reach the dining hall she’d managed to pull a smile from him.

He could tell they were late. Uther tapped his fingers on the table and glared around the room as if Arthur being late was the personal fault of every other soul in the room. The jesters and jugglers shifted awkwardly on their feet. The food was cooling on the table. Everyone quieted until he sat at the table, the mouths of Sirs and Ladies furrowing as they took in his less than princely attire.

And then, once he’d greeted the room and sat down, no one cared. They went on talking, the jesters began their smiling and their dancing. The jugglers balanced knives on their tongues. Everyone drank too much and Arthur drank more than that.

One of the team of entertainers had dark hair and soft lips and pale skin. Every time Arthur saw him his breath hitched before he realized that the boy wasn’t made of enough angles and the blues of his eyes were too light. The third time he was caught staring at the boy, wishing the cheekbones were sharper and the pink of his lips was softer, the boy lowered his lashes and blushed. And that was the last Arthur allowed himself to stare at the not-Merlin.

It would help if there didn’t seem to be the feel of Merlin in every corner of the room. Dancing and laughter and spinning nobles didn't distract him. Whenever he would turn, some dainty hand in his, he was sure that he would find dark eyes and a smirk watching him from the other side of the room.

Magic whispered against his skin, a reminder of a past touch, whenever his hand lingered on the waist of a woman. A thin laugh crackled across the room whenever he would catch the eye of an unsubtle kitchen boy. A hint of gold smoke around a corner, a subtle shift, the smell of burning air. No man or woman was inviting enough to distract him from the pump of Merlin in his blood.

He was just starting to wonder idly if he was going mad when he caught the gleam of a gold eye in the shadow of a hallway. Whatever excuse stammered past his lips was forgotten before he’d bothered to think of it. The conversation stuttered to a halt for only a moment before they continued on without him.

“You know, you’re supposed to be spoken for. Making moony eyes at every available tussle seems hardly appropriate.” Merlin’s fingers were already wrapping around his wrist, tugging him further into the darkened hallway.

“Gwen really doesn’t mind.” He grinned, leaning forward. “You sound jealous.”

“Jealous of a prat like you? You’ve been being royal all over the place.” Merlin flicked his gaze up to Arthur’s, grinning like a cat as he stepped out of Arthur’s arms. “You look like you just rolled out of bed and decided to crash the party.”

“Who are you to talk about crashing parties?” He crossed his arms and laughed. “I can dress however I want at my own celebration.”

“Speaking of, where is the Lady for the festivities?” Large ears and dark hair tilted comically as Merlin leaned against the wall opposite Arthur. “Is she similarly allowed to dress however she pleases?”

“Morgana would like you.” Arthur shook his head. “She’s convinced women would be more comfortable in men’s clothing.”

“I don’t doubt her. Sorceresses are allowed much more than your women. She’d be at home there.” And there was a layered meaning there, a push towards a truth Arthur wasn’t ready to face.

“Anyway, Gwen tends to stay only as long as necessary before she cries off and Morgana chases after her.” He shrugged and tried to ignore the pang of loneliness as he thought of the two of them in Morgana’s chambers, trading kisses and sighs. “Gwen’s terrified of my father and he tends to follow her around like a bad smell.”

“I see you’re still angry at him then.”

Arthur frowned. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Merlin put up his hands. “By all means, be angry. I wasn’t arguing on his behalf.”

“It’s not just him. My entire life is a lie. Magic, non-magic, everyone I’ve ever known is suspect now. And—” But then Merlin was gone without warning. Arthur wondered if this would be the norm.

“Sire?” George trembled in the entrance, the sound of dying conversation wafting in behind him. “His Highness is asking for you.”

Arthur had the overwhelming urge to tell his father to fuck off and to run to his room. He’d had enough for the day. Of everything. He almost walked away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pivoted on his heel and marched purposefully to his where his father stood talking to King Thomas Le Grance, Gwen’s father. The two cackled like gossiping grannies, their faces flushed with drink. Uther's smile faded immediately upon laying eyes on Arthur.

“There is word that you disappeared with one of the entertainment.” It was Gwen’s father who spoke up, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. “I will not have my daughter disgraced, boy.”

Uther patted the man’s arm, but did not speak in Arthur’s defense. The pair glowered at him as if they had seen him personally. His face heated in anger and embarrassment, but he forced himself to grin.

“I assure you, Sire, there has been nothing of the sort. I would not dare to risk dishonor to Guinevere.”

King Thomas looked over him with narrowed eyes, frown deepening at Arthur’s loose clothing and worn boots, but he did not say anything further about it. It was Uther who waved over the dark haired not-Merlin, as unreadable as ever.

“It is with this boy it is said you disappeared. Tell us, boy, what do you call yourself?” Uther took another drink from his goblet, avoiding Arthur’s gaping protests with the rim of his cup.

He had not expected his father would call into question his word and honor in front of his soon-to-be father-in-law. It was a layered insult, a punishment no doubt for his disagreement earlier.

“Mordred, Sire.”

Arthur didn’t realize what Uther was doing until the boy spoke, all trembling, whimpering worry. The way his father’s shoulders went lax, his smile stretched wide and fake, told Arthur everything. There was no power in this boy’s voice. There was no storm or spell at the tip of this boy’s tongue.

Mordred looked enough like Merlin that Arthur could almost see his point. That didn’t stop him from stomping away before his father could ask the poor boy if he’d been alone all the night.

He was only slightly disappointed to find that Merlin wasn’t waiting for him in his room. He tossed off his clothes and crawled into his covers and waited until his tired, spinning thoughts slowed enough to sleep.

He didn’t dream of fevered kisses or the electric buzz of magic. He didn’t dream of questing beasts or snake-wielding shields or a curse wound like a noose around his neck. Instead he dreamed of murmurs from dark corners and quiet places. He felt cool water over his toes and sweet comfort at his back and he wished, not for the first time, that he could sleep for a long, long while.

He woke to a hand stroking the hair away from his forehead, fingers soothing away the pounding in his head.

“You really shouldn’t drink so much, clotpole. You’ve slept through half the day and Morgana’s been banging on your door all morning.” A feather-light touch against his shoulder stirred him, the stroke on his forehead gone. “Besides, there’s plenty of time for sleeping later.”

When he finally pried his eyes open, there was no one in his room, but Morgana was pounding on his door. Twice in two days was getting to be a bit much.

“What on earth do you want, Morgana?” His voice rasped out from his throat and he was struck with how horribly dry his mouth was.

“I’ve been trying to wake you for hours, Arthur. They’ve found him.” She was too loud, too wild. He couldn’t think why she would be telling him this, why she would care.

It didn’t stop him from leaping from the bed and shoving on the clothes still lying on the floor. “What do you mean they’ve found him? He can’t have been stupid enough to stick around.” _Not after threatening Camelot_ , Arthur thought, but didn’t say. It didn’t fit. Merlin hadn’t exactly threatened Camelot. Just everything Uther had taught him _was_ Camelot.

“It doesn’t matter what I mean, they’ve found him. Uther’s had him tossed in the dungeon.” She jumped back when the door swung open but she matched his stride when he pushed through. “He’s had Gaius put some kind of chains on him. He can’t magic out of it.”

They were flying down steps two at a time, rounding corners recklessly. They startled more than one servant on their tear through the castle. Arthur missed most of Morgana’s worried chatter, catching words like _magic outside the walls_ and _a group waiting_ and _safe tonight_. Arthur knew Uther wouldn’t wait.

Merlin was the prize. He was the example that would put an end to the coming uprising. Uther wouldn’t dare let him have a chance to escape. A fair trial for sorcery did not exist in Camelot.

So Arthur was practically sprinting when Morgana grabbed his arm, forcing him to stand still.

“I don’t know what it is about you two, Arthur, but everyone saw it. If you go down there, Uther will know before they open the prison doors.” She looked around them, eying the empty hallway with suspicion. “He’s planning something, Arthur. And if you go down there right now, it will just play into whatever he’s trying to do.”

“How do you always know, Morgana?” He was still panting from his run, his hands bunched into his trousers as he tried to gulp in breath. “How do you always know?”

She didn’t answer him. Her grip tightened on his arm. Her lips thinned in concentration. “Of course. Listen, I’ll go down and yell at the guards and such. Uther will be expecting that. While I’m doing that, you get the keys. You can go visit him afterwards.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but found her hand shoved in front of his face.

“Don’t argue, Arthur. Trust me, this is what’s best.”

She sounded so tired and so sure that he went quiet. He didn’t know why it mattered anyway. A few conversations and a single kiss should definitely not have made him defy Uther. But it did matter and it appeared he was going to defy Uther and what the hell was the matter with him?

 Merlin was more than a pretty face, though. Merlin had answers. Merlin had closure. He was a bundle of truth wrapped up in showy powers and a snarky attitude. Arthur needed to know, in a horrible desperate way, why they’d agreed to protect him at the loss of so many. Who and how and why of everything magic. Arthur had enough questions to fill a book and he knew that his best hope sat in the dungeons.

Getting the keys was difficult. He couldn’t be obvious about it. Even with Morgana screaming and the guards embarrassed and shifting on their feet there wasn't much time for him to slip behind and pluck the keys off the table. It was even harder to fight the key from the ring, quieter than the dramatic yells in the echoing space, and to sneak it back. Morgana never looked at him, keeping the guards’ eyes locked on hers.

She seemed to know when he’d finished regardless. By the time he’d made it back into the hallway, key heavy in his pocket, she had marched up the steps as regal and righteous as always.

“I can get you an hour or so after dinner, Arthur, but you have to promise not to do anything stupid.” She didn’t pause as she walked past him, straight towards Uther’s quarters. “I can’t guarantee any kind of safety.”

“What are you going to do, exactly?” He called after her, but she ignored him.

He was sure it would involve Gwen somehow. All of Morgana’s harebrained schemes seemed to involve Gwen.

He spent the rest of the day with half of his head in the clouds, forming questions and then pushing them away. If he was especially brutal to the knights yesterday then he was nearly absent today. He was never so glad to be engaged. Everyone kept grinning at him and mentioning wedding nights and impatient fingers.

Occasionally he would hear a voice, as if far away, call out to him in a mocking tone.

_Watch for that swing, dollophead. He almost got you across the ears._

_Don’t let him bloody up that pretty nose of yours._

_Uther would have a fit at your footwork, prat. Stop brooding._

He dismissed practice early, picked at his dinner and then cried off to his room for the night. Music and dancing were too much. Uther’s gaze bore into his back the entire exhaustive walk from the dining hall.

He was never more relieved to be rid of menial conversation than when the voice, quiet and tired itself, whispered through to him.

_Are you alright, Pendragon? You feel barely there._

And of course he couldn’t answer, but it was a nice question to hear before he fell asleep. This time he didn’t dream as he waited on dinner to end and Morgana to summon him.

The knock at his door was quiet enough that it almost failed to wake him.

The note slipped into his room merely said ‘ _Now’_ in Gwen’s familiar writing.

By the time he reached the dungeons, only a white dust gave any evidence to what had put the guards to sleep. They’d wake with no memory of the event. Arthur was glad for that. Plausible deniability- they’d not be accused of helping him.

“I didn’t know if that was supposed to be meant for me or not. Good to see you.” Merlin stretched against the wall, his wrists bright red under his chains. “These things are horrid. You wouldn’t happen to have a key for them too?”

“Stop talking before you get us caught. They’re asleep, not dead.” He didn’t bother trying to break the manacles. “You’re taking me to your little magic uprising. I’ve got questions and I need answers.”

“I thought you might. You could have asked at any time, you know.” Merlin only shrugged and twisted his hands in his restraints again. “I can’t guarantee the others—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off as heavy footsteps sounded off in the hallway. Arthur shoved his hand over Merlin’s mouth, pushing back against the stone walls of the prison cell. He cursed the torches that cast too much light for him to blend into the shadow. No weapons in reach, and Merlin would be useless in a fight without his magic.

So Arthur waited, watching. A loud clatter and a high pitched voice made his shoulders relax.

“Arthur? Don’t be an idiot, get moving.” Gwen poked her head out, her smile soft and a dull sword held securely in hand. “Morgana’s been trying to signal to Merlin for an hour now. She’s got the horses by the stables.”

“I’ve not exactly been able to respond, now.” Merlin waved his arms irritably. Arthur shot him a confused look, but received no response. For the first time, Arthur wondered if he’d actually imagined that voice in his head.

That they managed to get out of the castle at all was a miracle. It involved a lot of arguing and pushing Merlin behind things, and Gwen telling them both to behave and shut up. By the time they made it to the stables, the alarm bell sounded.

Morgana’s smile was wide from atop her horse. Arthur had never seen her look so sure of anything. He tried not to think of why she’d be so happy to leave Camelot. Why she’d practically begged him to take her, before he’d even known he’d be going.

They raced out of Camelot to the sound of guards calling from the castle and the bell still ringing out over the courtyard. Arthur didn’t look back.


	2. Chapter 2

They rode for hours. Morgana led the way, twisting and turning off every path. The horses suffered, stumbling over roots and rocks and uneven ground. Still Morgana pushed further, her expression more uneasy the further from Camelot they fled.

Merlin steadfastly refused to shut up. Occasionally he would mutter something foreign and low, something that made ripples of magic spill out from him like a pebble in a pond. When he wasn’t whispering in the Old language he was whining at Arthur about his wrists.

“It’s really painful. And I can’t do proper magic this way.” And he’d mumble again, eyes glowing dimly gold, another wave of power washing over the area. “They’re gaining on us. I could get us out of here if you’d just take them off.”

And it was always Morgana who would bark out, quick and sure, “We don’t have time. If we stop now, they _will_ catch us. We wouldn’t possibly get them off fast enough.”

Merlin would go almost quiet after that, fidgeting and glaring and sighing and asking Arthur if they’d packed _any_ provisions.

“I did literally nothing, Merlin, except for bust you out of jail.” To be completely honest, he hadn’t even known for sure that they were all running away. That part had just sort of happened.

“I wouldn’t exactly say you did that either. I mean, sure you had the key but Gwen put the guards to sleep and knocked that one guy out. Nice to meet you Gwen!” Merlin twisted in his seat and waved awkwardly at Gwen, who waved enthusiastically back.

“Oh, sure. Give her all the credit. Ungrateful, the lot of you.” Arthur sped up on his horse until it whined, reminding him that it had gone too long and too hard for playful trotting.

Everything went to a sort of camaraderie after that. Gwen quipped in with a joke. Morgana chuckled and the four of them distracted the others with witty remarks. Morgana led them, with a sharp wave of her hand, onto thinner and increasingly overgrown paths. It was slow progress. Arthur wasn’t sure where they were, or how she knew where to go. Merlin didn’t object, and Arthur couldn’t think of what to object with, and so they did as Morgana said.

Then Morgana pulled up on her horse, head tilted to the side and eyes wide. They could all hear it, once they stopped struggling through underbrush and branches. Armor clinked behind them, too close to have just appeared. Merlin shot Morgana a worried look that made her flinch and Arthur was about ready to run screaming into battle when his sister’s shaky voice broke their silence.

“I’m so sorry. I thought… I thought I’d led us away. I didn’t know…” Her face was pale when she slid down to stand beside her horse.

Gwen was already off, rushing to her side. “No, no. You aren’t to blame, love. This happens sometimes. It can’t always work perfectly. Come on.” Gwen rubbed her thumbs along Morgana’s cheeks, pressed her lips against the top of Morgana’s dark head.

Arthur watched, mouth hanging open, as Gwen comforted Morgana. He felt like he had missed something obvious. “Why on earth would it be Morgana’s fault? We should have known we wouldn’t get far. I trained those knights! They’d never—”

“Arthur, stop talking.” Merlin’s voice was firm as he hopped off his horse, nearly landing on his face without anything to catch him.

“You can’t order me to stop talking, Merlin. I’m the prince.” But Merlin ignored him, and everyone else was off their horses now. So he just climbed down and listened.

There were plenty of places to hide, most of them up. He wasn’t sure how quickly they could climb, and if the growing sound of footsteps pounding against dead leaves and hard ground was any indication, they probably didn’t have time. Arthur hadn’t really thought very far ahead. He had no plan.

Morgana shouted, her arm around Gwen’s waist.

“Morgana, no! You don’t have to. We can still get you there.” Merlin’s voice was pained in a way that Arthur hadn’t expected.

His attention swung to Morgana again in time to see her lifting her arm, eyes glowing. He had the terrifying image of Morgana sacrificing herself and he couldn’t understand it, couldn’t wrap his head around what he was seeing and what she was doing.

“Morgana, whatever you’re doing, we can handle this. We’ll just go back, I’ll find a way to save Merlin. I’ll find a way to deal with dad.”

“No time, Merlin. Come back for me.” He thought she was going to ignore him, but when she turned to face him, eyes still bright, hand still up, her expression was soft. “This is far more important than you realize, little brother. I’ll be safe.”

He didn’t have time to react. By the time he forced his feet to move, lunging forward on unsteady legs, the knights were breaking through the foliage, swords drawn.

He didn’t know what Morgana said, but Merlin gaped at her as if she’d struck him. Without warning the earth churned. Rocks and dirt and roots and grass spun, a wall of upheaved mud pushing against oncoming knights. Arthur didn’t move from his spot, stuck between Morgana and Merlin and this new knowledge.

He didn’t fight when he was tackled down and out of sight, dark hair in his mouth, a sharp elbow in his side. He saw someone, _curlssmallhandskindeyes **Gwen** , _yank at Merlin’s restraints. She was crying, pleading in a small whisper to get them out of here. To get Morgana away.

He was struck with the realization that he was the only one out of the group who hadn’t expected this. Yet he could feel, through the shocked numb of his brain, that he wanted what Gwen wanted.

Morgana wasn’t safe. Morgana wasn’t safe here, or in Camelot, or anywhere.

“Merlin, save her. You have to save her.” His voice was raspy and his chest was heavy under Merlin’s shoulder. “I know you can.”

“I can’t, Arthur. The spells she’s doing, it’s not simple magic. If I distract her, it could kill her.”

“If she goes back to Camelot, they’ll kill her instead. She’s my sister!”

Morgana always protected him. She’d stood her ground against Uther, red faced and screaming, when he threatened to send Arthur away for being caught with a stable boy. She’fought the underhanded Cedric until he’d cowered like the fool he was, chasing him all the way out of the castle. She smiled her sad smile, crinkled her nose and ran her fingers through his hair when he was too drunk off his ass to realize he was crying on his birthday.

And now she was a sorceress and she’d yanked the ground from under his feet. Still protecting him.

He only had to look at Merlin’s fierce frown to know that she was going to get left behind.

“Gwen.” He wheezed, sitting up to drag air back into his lungs and not caring if his new position exposed them. “You have to be here when she’s done. You have to stay with her. She can’t think she’s alone.” He coughed, rubbing at the knot of fear that only wound tighter now that he knew. “Morgana doesn’t do well on her own.”

“Morgana can take care of herself.” Gwen’s reaction was immediate, but her nostrils flared, hands wringing in her lap. “I’ll stay.”

A loud crunch sounded in front of them. A strangled scream broke off as abruptly as it started. Arthur couldn’t see through the hail of earth, but the sound was distinctly masculine. More deaths to magic, more deaths to protect him. He swallowed vomit as he watched Gwen fight her way through the storm. He’d only just stood when he felt a grip, tight, on his arm. Words hissed behind him, full of the heavy magic he’d learned to associate with Merlin.

He opened his mouth to argue. Words caught and shifted in his mouth into a long, unbroken scream as he was lifted, soaring over trees before he’d fully accepted that his feet were not on the ground. He twisted his neck and glared up, squinting away the sun to see a creature, both like Merlin and unlike him, pulling him higher. There was the hint of wings, the glimmer of horns, a shadow large and scaled and almost corporeal over Merlin’s shaking body.

If Morgana was using complicated magic, he wondered what this was. The thought sent another wave of sickness through him, and this time he did vomit, which was disgusting on an entirely new level as he twisted to avoid getting sick splattered on him.

It occurred to him that he’d never been here before, staring desperately into the trees, wishing the earth would swallow them up and spit them out somewhere new. He’d never wanted anything but Camelot.

But as the knights, _his knights_ , fought below, their armor catching spots of sun and throwing light around the leaves, he didn’t want to go back home. He didn’t even know where that was anymore.

Camelot was secrets and lies. He needed the truth before he could return.

They hadn’t moved very far in any direction but up when Merlin stopped. Everything warped and blurred and twisted and then he was on the ground again with a horrible pain in his shoulder and his stomach trying to crawl out of his throat. He was vaguely aware of a large shape shrinking beside him, more a fading energy than anything, while he tried to get his insides to stop choking him.

“Wh-what the hell, Merlin?” He coughed. His shoulders were shaking and he couldn’t make them stop. “You can’t just do that. What about Morgana?”

“I couldn’t let them get to you, too. Morgana will be fine.”

“And Gwen? She’s not like you two, she’s not…” But Arthur realized he wasn’t sure any more. Was Gwen magic? Did everyone have magic? How could he even tell? He’d lived with Morgana all his life and he’d never known.

“No, she doesn’t. Stop panicking.”

He moved before he could stop himself. He surged forward, hands gripping Merlin’s shirt lifting him like he was no more than a bag of sticks. Merlin didn’t blink at him, eyes stained a clash of blue and gold.

“Don’t tell me not to panic. My sister is back there. She could die.” He dropped Merlin, turned on his heel, and was knocked immediately off his feet.

“Get the hell off my son, Pendragon!” shouted the small bundle of brown hair and flying fists.

There were others around them, some of them snickering amusedly, others looking like they may join the woman. A few of the children moved away when he backed up, hands out for any sort of support.

It was Merlin who walked in front of him. “Mum, really, it’s Arthur. Not Uther. If he wanted to hurt me, I wouldn’t have brought him.”

The woman squinted at Arthur for a moment, hands on her hips and frowning. “If you say so. Are you sure that’s him?”

“Of course I am, mum. I’ve been up there the last few days, after all. He fits Dad’s description of him pretty well.” And now it was Merlin giving him a sidelong look. As if Merlin hadn’t watched Arthur struggle with Uther. As if Merlin hadn’t followed him up to his chambers.

“Really, Merlin?” Arthur snapped. He shook his head and stood, stepping further away from onlookers. “Someone explain what’s going on. First Morgana sets up this whole leaving Camelot thing, then you abandon my sister to take me to…” Arthur gestured around him. “Here. Did no one think to say ‘Oh, Arthur, would you like to run off and join a rebel cause for magic?’”

“Ok. Arthur, do you want to run off with me and join the magic cause?” Merlin blinked at him owlishly, his eyes suddenly too large on his face. Everything was different. Merlin was contained, colder, slower, heavier. As if some other person had stepped into him.

“I don’t even properly know what the magic cause is, _Mer_ lin.”  He’d barely spit the words from his mouth before all the fight bled out of him. “You know what, fine. Sure. It’s not like Camelot wants me anymore anyway.”

“Your dad would take you back with barely a spat on the wrist.” Merlin sounded far away, even as he stood close enough Arthur could reach out and grab him. “He’d probably be relieved. Say you were whisked away by my evil ways and he’d shrug it off in a heartbeat.”

Arthur’s stomach squirmed and he looked uncomfortably at the place where he’d landed. The worst was that Merlin wasn’t wrong. Arthur could go back at any time.

Except he’d seen Morgana, felt her power ripping through the earth and known that knights had saw it, too. To go back would be to abandon her. And to abandon Merlin.

For the first time since he landed, he actually looked at his surroundings. There were no walls, no standing buildings. Just tents and fire pits and laundry hanging from tree to tree. The cluster of homes seemed to blend and sink into their surroundings, as if they’d been a part of them forever. People were everywhere, some dirty and ragged and others in greatly ornamented robes. Merlin’s mother was somewhere in the middle, her outfit modest but clean. Going back to Camelot would be abandoning all of these people.

Arthur had never thought of groups of magic people before. Always a Sorcerer had been described to him as some rogue devil, out on his own and creating havoc wherever he roamed. He’d never considered the community of people, rich and poor, strong and weak, that may house magic.

Merlin was still watching him when Arthur turned back to him, his back set. “Well, I can’t see any point in turning back now. I’ve come this far.”

Merlin smile spread slow across his cheeks, but he didn’t respond except to nod. He walked towards one of the smaller tents, pulling back thick, wax-slick fabric and disappeared from sight.

“You’ll have to forgive him. He tries not to take on that form very often.” The woman narrowed her eyes as she said it though, staring at where Merlin had disappeared. “He’s usually not so rude.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Arthur blurted, pushing his palms into his eyes. To his surprise, the woman only laughed.

“You’re not wrong. My name’s Hunith. I’m Merlin’s mother.” She held out a hand, rough and calloused and warm in Arthur’s, and shook. “We weren’t sure how you’d react to the news.”

“I have a feeling I don’t really understand. Morgana and Merlin kind of went off on their own plan, and I ended up… here.” He gestured around again, this time without the heat of anger.

Hunith smiled, shaking her head. “Leave it to Merlin to forget the details. Come on, love, you must be starving.”

Arthur started at the familiar term, but Hunith was already walking towards the tent Merlin had just entered. The group outside was still eying him, their postures defensive and afraid. That probably wouldn’t be going away any time soon. So he followed after her, ducking into the room with one last glance around the small so-called town.

Merlin was curled into a ball on a cushion. The only remnant of his earlier magic was the gold horns, still stretched out from his unruly black hair. Arthur looked to Hunith, ensuring she was distracted.

The horns felt cool under his fingertips. The ridges locked together, smooth like the highest quality metal. He wondered if they were actually made of gold, following the slight curve of them until he touched the top of Merlin’s fringe.

“You know, I’d be careful if I was you. Those are dragon horns.” Hunith chuckled when Arthur jumped. He snatched his hand away as if burned, blushing a furious red. “Dragons are not fond of being touched.”

“Merlin’s not a dragon.” Which was the stupidest thing Arthur could have said. It was abundantly clear, most of all to Hunith, that Merlin was not in fact a dragon.

“Dear, you don’t need to be so nervous.” She held a rudimentary bowl, wooden and clunky, but filled with liquid and grain and strings of meat. Arthur’s stomach growled. It wasn’t as discerning as his eyes. “I’m not going to try hitting you again. If Merlin trusts you, I trust him.”

He rubbed at another knot in his chest, this one similar and different from the one he felt for Morgana. “That’s very generous. You barely know me.”

“And the first time I met you, you were holding my son off the ground by his collar. And he still trusts you.” Hunith grinned at him, patting his hand when he accepted the bowl. “You should get some rest too. You’ll be in for a lot of questions tomorrow.”

Arthur nodded, chewing around gristle and mush. “I probably won’t have any answers. I expect it won’t matter.” He glanced over, watching Merlin’s breath fall evenly. “How long will he be like that?”

“The last time he did it, it took a few days to fully recede. His father did it more often than him. Balinor was an unusual case, though.” Hunith looked down to her thumbs rubbing the thin fabric of her dress. “More dragon than man, I suspect.”

Arthur wanted to ask what she meant, he really did. But the day clogged up his thoughts, worry dragged him into exhaustion. He shuddered when his teeth caught a glob of animal fat and put the bowl down. Hunith’s eye roll was obvious, but she took it back regardless. She laughed at the helpless look he cast about the tent.

“You can sleep here, but you’ll have to stay with Merlin.” She nudged at her son’s still form with her toe, eliciting a weak mumble of disapproval. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”

Arthur blushed and Hunith let out a bright laugh that sounded eerily similar to Merlin’s. “I’ve never shared a bed before.”

Hunith raised an eyebrow. “Now, I don’t believe that. We’ve all heard the rumors of Arthur Pendragon. Balinor used to tell the wildest stories.”

“Tomorrow, you’ll have to tell me about this Balinor character.” Hunith’s shoulders tightened, and Arthur recalled the white dragon pendant and it’s flashing anger. “Or not. I mean, I’m sure I can find answers, urm, somewhere else. I don’t mean to pry, I just—”

“You are the strangest Prince. No wonder Merlin brought you here.” Hunith smoothed down the cushion where Merlin had wiggled the bedding flat. “Go on and lay own. I’m sure Merlin will be able to help. Might be best to let all this,” she waved her hands around her head, “go away a bit though. He can be a bit blunt like that.”

“Thanks. For the food and the… um, conversation?” His head was full of fog and questions crashing together. “I see where Merlin gets all his sparkling wit from.”

Hunith grinned. “He is his mother’s son. Now get some sleep before you say anything embarrassing.”

“Too late,” he mumbled. Arthur edged onto the cushion, sinking into a surprising amount of softness. It was bigger than he thought. He stretched on his stomach, arms and legs out, and was asleep in minutes.

The next morning, he woke to an elbow in his face and a leg over his torso. He was glad Merlin was facing him. He didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to wake up with a horn in his cheek. He pried his eyes open to find blue and gold already staring at him.

“That’s really not normal.” He rolled away. Aches that reminded him of long campaigns on cold, winter ground bloomed to life in his back. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

“Mum says I fell asleep before you. And that you were out like a log after you insulted her cooking and embarrassed yourself.”

Arthur blushed. “She didn’t say that.”

“She said almost exactly that.” Merlin sat up, a dark nest of tangles on his head twisting around his unusual fixtures. He caught Arthur staring and grinned, his cheeks tinging pink. “They’re always a hassle to sleep in. I’ve only done it twice before.”

“They really allude to your evil inner workings.” Arthur stuck two fingers up at the side of his head and wiggled them around, rewarded with the crackle of Merlin’s laughter.

“Well, my evil community and I have a lot to do today. If you want any of those pressing questions answered, you best come with me.”

Merlin stood and stretched, his rumpled clothes bunching up to reveal a pale stomach and long, spindly muscle under scarred skin. It was such a simple movement, and yet Arthur caught himself watching the show with a single minded interest.

“Keep staring like that, Pendragon, and I’ll have to take another rest.” Merlin smirked when he put his arms back down, but the playful look disappeared as quickly as it came. Seriousness crept over Merlin’s features like a shadow. “Speaking of, sort of. Why on earth did you come down to that dungeon after me if you weren’t running away from Camelot?”

Arthur paused in his attempt to pull his boots back on. The question had surfaced a few times, but always under the layer of other, more pressing matters. He shrugged. “You know all about magic, and this curse that my father’s under.” Merlin flinched, but Arthur continued on. “As a matter of fact, pretty much anything I need to know, you seem to know the answer. You know much more about magic than—” Morgana flashed through his memory, arms up and powerful. “Than anyone I knew about.”

“Is that why, then?” Merlin’s voice was soft, but he nodded his head once and straightened out his clothes. He crinkled his nose when yesterday’s dust and musk puffed out from under his hands “Right, change of clothes and all that. First to do.”

Arthur followed him curiously when he exited the tent. Merlin was quick up a tree and across a branch, plucking shirts and pants from laundry lines. Children gathered beneath to giggle at him, gasping when he hopped down and drifted gently to a stop in front of them. He bowed once, winked and the kids giggled again. Arthur found himself grinning as well.

“I wouldn’t have expected magic tricks to work in a sorcerer’s camp. They’re easily amused.” Arthur caught the bundle of trousers thrown at him with ease, but Merlin scowled at him.

“Not everyone in the camp can do magic like that. Most of them here can’t.” He jerked his head towards a group of women passing down clothes from a nearby cluster of lines.

“Like what? Jumping around and floating?” Arthur frowned. “What do they do then?”

“Most of the simpler magic is for stuff like helping a fire start or warming a meal. That’s what most people have.” Merlin wiggled out of his shirt and into another one, holding his trousers up by the laces. “Stuff like what I do is unusual. It only comes after a lot of hard work and training. Most of the kids here don’t have time for that kind of stuff.”

“Hm.” Arthur looked around and noticed a few rags wringing themselves out. A group of girls were staring hard at rocks, watching them tremor and lurch around a bit before they gave up. “So, say someone animated snakes painted on a shield, what kind of magic would that take?”

Merlin stiffened, but his expression was carefully blank. “Bringing inanimate objects or pictures to life would be quite rare magic indeed.”

Arthur said nothing the rest of their walk.

The next task seemed simple enough. Baskets and baskets of berries sat in a group at the largest tent. Other foods, mostly different kinds of acorns, flowers and herbs, sat in different areas, all with a different group attending to them.

It was strange to see everyone working together, though Arthur did notice that the fancy robes and heavy accessories were missing from yesterday. When he sat it was between Merlin and his mother, the two of them cackling at him like they shared a secret.

And he wouldn’t have been surprised if they did. The entire group, men, women, and children and all who remained ambiguous, talked like Morgana and Gwen did in her chambers.

He learned that the baker had set fire to his wife’s one and only gown. He was still trying to get rid of the oinker she’d cursed him with. The fishermen had left out last week and were due in three days from today. They had tried enlarging their nets but, though the net got bigger, so did the holes. One man had mentioned, in a hushed tone, the name Kilgarrah, but he was quickly shushed as all eyes turned towards Arthur.

He added that question to his growing list.

He also noticed that, though separating out the good and bad berries was most certainly an easy task, no one was using magic to do it.

“Oh, well, we have to actually inspect the berries. Our magic can’t tell what’s good and what’s not. We have to do that.” The woman who answered his mumbled question turned bright red, her lips pressed together, but her expression friendly. “I guess if you’ve never used it, you’d probably think we have it real easy here, but…” She turned her head, her cheeks an alarming shade.

Merlin spoke up. “Magic is like a muscle. It still takes a lot of energy to keep using it. And so if you only have a certain store of it, you’re not going to use it to inspect berries. It’s an incredible amount of energy for something that we could just as easily do without.”

“Merlin, here, he’s a real treasure, though. He once stopped the sun.”

Arthur looked at the beaming old lady incredulously. “I think I would notice if the sun stopped. Merlin?”

Merlin was red from his neck to his ears. “It wasn’t exactly… I didn’t stop the sun. I stopped… I stopped time.” The last bit came out garbled and quiet, but Arthur still heard it.

“You stopped time. Why on earth would you stop time?”

“That’s enough.” Hunith cut through the conversation, her order sharp and clear. Her glare to the old woman was quick but final.

Eventually, the chatter died down and everyone concentrated on the task at hand. Arthur didn’t bother being concerned about his stained hands or the fact that Merlin kept plucking up berries from his _bad_ pile and tossing them into the _good_ pile. Merlin had stopped time. Merlin who licked his fingers when he ate and who slept as though he’d exploded on the bed, had the power to stop time. More than once, Arthur was caught staring incredulously at him. Every time, Merlin’s expression darkened until Arthur could practically see the thunder rolling through his thoughts.

No one else brought up any remarkable feats during that chore.

The sun was soaring over the trees and tents before Arthur re-entered Merlin’s tent. Hunith handed them bowls of the same soup from the night before. They both ate in silence, Arthur trying his best not to taste or chew anything. He wondered why they didn’t just conjure up food, but he was starting to figure it out.

He’d been fed a pack of lies about sorcerers.

He’d been fed a pack of lies about everything, it would seem.

“So, are we as bad as all the stories?” Merlin asked, his mouth full.

“Terrifying, the lot of you.” Arthur nudged his foot against Merlin’s, snickering when Merlin rolled his eyes. “Your eyes are a bit bluer now than they were this morning.”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow and sat his bowl to the side. “Is that so? Didn’t know you cared.”

“Of course not.” Arthur rolled a large blob of something to the side of his bowl, trying very hard not to think on what it was. “So, Merlin. About my questions.”

“Ask away. I’m sure you’ve been dying to.”

“Of course I have. Are there many more communities like yours?” Which hadn’t been the first question he’d wanted to ask at all but that’s what ended up popping out of his mouth. He frowned.

“Yes. We’re everywhere. The nearest one is two days from here, but I’m not telling you which direction.”

“Thought you trusted me.”

Merlin bumped his shoulder. “I trust you not to beat me to a pulp. It’s not my place to decide for other communities whether you’re to be trusted or not.”

Arthur considered. “Fair enough. So, why would any sorcerer choose to protect me? My father’s hatred for magic is well known. You’d have to know he wouldn’t ever consider repealing the bans.”

Merlin made a pained face. “Not everything has always been like this. My dad says he and Uther used to be friends. My dad was powerful—the last of the dragonlords—and Uther liked having him near. Magic used to be alive in Camelot, even in your courts.” Merlin fiddled with the dragon around his neck. “Then, when Ygraine died, Uther demanded my dad bring him Kilgarrah. He said it was to make peace, but then Kilgarrah disappeared.”

Arthur remembered that story well. Uther had waved off the accusations as ridiculous, claiming that no one could possibly object to imprisoning a dragon. The absurd reality that dragons had no interest in humans had made his father laugh. He had justified, and convinced Arthur, that the trickery had been necessary to save all the lives the dragon would have taken.

“After the bans, magic people were upset. They tried to attack Camelot, force Uther to reconsider. All they did was reinforce his idea that magic was evil. Years of good deeds, destroyed by a few careless acts.”

Arthur went very still. It seemed so obvious when Merlin said it. The sorcerers had attacked after Arthur’s birthday because of the bans on magic, not because Arthur was some beacon for magical disaster. Why would they hate an infant? Merlin was still talking beside him, but Arthur had stopped listening.

He had never questioned his father’s overt and covert message that Arthur was to blame for Camelot’s feud with magic. Merlin hadn’t even acted like that had been an option.

He jumped when he felt a light touch on his shoulder, Merlin giving him worried glances. “I’m sorry, did you ask something?”

“Are you alright, Pendragon? You look barely there.” Merlin’s grip tightened on his shoulder,

“I’m fine,” he said so easily that he may have believed himself. Merlin only gave him a tight smile and moved his hand off his arm.

“Are you ready to go help with the laundry?” But Merlin wasn’t waiting for an answer. He was already heading out of the tent, barely giving Arthur time to follow.

“So everyone does laundry?” Arthur asked.

“Well, you see, everyone wears clothes.” Merlin paused, as if considering. “Well, it’s preferred everyone wears clothes. Sometimes it’s hit or miss with the older folk.”

“And everyone sorts berries and stuff?”

“Everyone also eats. That one’s kind of necessary.” Merlin shot him an amused look, but continued around and up a large branch.

“Does that mean everyone hunts?”

“Well, that’s part of eating. We try to hunt as little as possible, but yes, everyone hunts.”

“You are strange people.” Arthur counted four people lining up the largest branch, each passing the clothes down to another. This looked to be the easiest job yet.

“We think the same of Camelot, where you have rich men throwing out feasts while poor women starve.” Merlin shrugged, but Arthur still felt the prickle of defensiveness at his home.

Except, Merlin wasn’t wrong. In his engagement celebration alone, Arthur had seen enough food thrown out to feed a few families. So he said nothing, choosing to instead glare at the long line of shirts.

“We’ll be washing.” Merlin led him to the other side of the tree.

Several people sat with their basins, shirtsleeves pushed up high and a stream of chatter flowing easily around the circle. Merlin took his place and patted beside him. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a tangle of shirts and pants and fabric scraps and started separating them out.

He already had one piece swishing in the water when he noticed Arthur was still standing, looking uncertainly at the tub. He reached up with one soapy hand and dragged Arthur to sit beside him, handing him a red bundle.

“If you ruin anything, those will be your clothes,” Merlin said. He dunked the clothes in a few times, the water surprisingly warm around Arthur’s wrists. “You just rub the soap in like this.”

Arthur ignored Merlin’s thin fingers around his, moving in circles with the scratchy, heavy wool. The process seemed simple enough. When Merlin’s gentle leading disappeared back to his own pile of clothes, Arthur worked with vigor.

When he finished lathering soap into every inch of the shirt, he had emptied a good portion of the water onto himself. He scowled, but continued working regardless. He watched as Merlin wrung out the soggy shirt, pink hued liquid swirling back into the basin.

Arthur ended up having to wring his shirt out three times, each time realizing he’d still left large streaks of soap on the cloth. By the time he’d finished, the shirt was faded and frayed.

“Yes, that shirt’s definitely yours now. It’s not too bad though, for a first try at washing.” Merlin smiled and set it into a basket with the other clothes he’d already finished. “I tried to get them to let us help with the lines, but it was my turn here so, here we are.”

“Who’s they?” Arthur grabbed a pair of trousers, only to have Merlin shake his head and trade it out for another shirt. “Don’t tell me you have some kind of elder council dictating chore duties.”

“We all decide who does what. I did line duty before I left. So now it’s my turn here. Its fine, mom needed laundry done anyway. Although, if you keep being so rough with my shirts I won’t have any clothes left.” Arthur blushed and Merlin chuckled. “If you have some secret plan to get me naked, I assure you this is not the way to go about it.”

“I wouldn’t _trick_ you into getting naked, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur scoffed, but he did lessen his grip on the clothes.

“How would you do it then?”

Arthur gaped, but Merlin only laughed that sharp laugh and continued working. He’d finished the basket by the time Arthur was on his third shirt. Arthur was pleased to see that his final shirt was almost the same color as when he’d begun washing it. The other two were considerably paler, their dye staining his hands and the water.

“If you’ll hurry up, we’ve got dinner coming. Everyone has questions.” Merlin had hauled the basket onto his hip, clutching it to him with his long arms.

“What on earth could I possibly answer?” Arthur grabbed the basket from him, sullen when Merlin only shot him a knowing look.

“You’ll need to hand that off to one of the ladies at the line. She’ll know where it goes.”

Arthur grumbled, but did as he was told. The woman took it from without thanks, eying him from foot to head. He waited, wondering if there was anything else he was supposed to do. No one spoke to him beyond that so he continued on, finding Hunith waiting on him.

“I have no doubt Merlin’s shown you a good time today.” When Arthur didn’t respond, she laughed. “Well, he probably didn’t want to scare you off. You’ll have more time after dinner to do something fun.”

“Oh yes, dinner. I hear it’s to be quite the interrogation.” Arthur rolled his shoulders, surprised at the ache up his spine. “He says it like I’m supposed to be exposed to the entire population.”

“Not the entire population, exactly. Just the more powerful ones here.” She ushered him inside, where he was surprised to find Merlin already gone.

“I thought everyone was the same here.” Arthur fiddled with a folded shirt on the cushion. “Everyone needs to eat and all that.”

“I wish.” She let out another laugh, sitting at the small, rough cut table. “We’re just different, Arthur. Anyway, best get changed. I doubt you want to be in those damp clothes all night.”

Arthur glared down at his soaked outfit and grabbed the shirt. Hunith disappeared through the flap of the door and he peeled the wet shirt off. He stomped down the butterflies in his chest. He refused to be nervous about meeting sorcerers. They were the ones with questions to answer. He wouldn’t be on the defensive.

He was still convincing himself of this when Merlin popped his head in, horns catching on the edge of the fabric. He fought down another flurry of nerves in his stomach when Merlin smirked at him, eyebrows raised at Arthur’s faded shirt.

“You said the ruined ones were mine.” Arthur grumbled.

“Pink suits you.” And then Merlin had his arm linked in his, leading him to a fire and a conversation already in full swing.

The first word Arthur caught was Kilgarrah, a name that made him wince even now. He wondered if they are all as angry about that as Merlin had been. Why didn’t they storm Camelot and demand the dragon be released? They hushed when Merlin entered their circle, pulling Arthur to sit with him. Merlin passed him a plate of boiled roots and meat cut in chunks and drowned in a red sauce.

It was a better meal than the soup at Hunith’s. He forced himself to eat it slowly. Merlin didn’t bother with politeness, and by the time the first man opened his mouth to speak, his plate was empty.

“How do you dare to come here for sanctuary, Prince Arthur, when you have provided no such safety for magic in Camelot?” The man closest asked.

The bluntness of the question threw Arthur. Merlin offered no help, only stared at him expectantly. “I didn’t know I was coming here. I came here with no expectation of protection or acceptance.”

“To be fair, I did literally drop him into the middle of town. I didn’t exactly get to ask him first.” The answer didn’t satisfy anyone, but the man kept his mouth shut when Merlin watched him, unblinking. “Besides, it’s me that’ll protect him, not you all. You can go about your business.”

“Yes, but he’s here. If King Uther finds him here, it will be us in trouble. All of us.” Another man spoke, the plates piling up by the fire. “What do you plan to do then?”

“I wouldn’t just sit and watch my father murder innocent people, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“That’s what you’ve done before.”

“I’ve never been helped by a Pendragon.”

“What about Kilgarrah? Do you know of the curse?” It was a lady who interrupted what Arthur could see was about to turn into a free-for-all decrying of the Pendragon line.

“I know about the curse.” Arthur frowned. “I didn’t know Kilgarrah was in the dungeons. I, like most of Camelot, thought all the dragons were gone.”

“So you never spoke to Kilgarrah then? You don’t know of the prophecy?” He finally recognized the woman talking as the on the from the laundry line. She stared at him with the same indifference as before.

“Um, no?” He looked to Merlin again, but now Merlin was looking down his eyelashes at his feet, pushing the dirt around with his toes. “Does it have something to do with the curse?”

“Merlin and Arthur, Emrys and the Once and Future King, to unite magic and Camelot once more.” Merlin mumbled. “It sort of has to do with the curse.”

“What does this curse have to do with that?” Arthur shook his head. “It’s no good regardless. My dad will Father will never allow magic back into Camelot. He’s already made that quite clear.”

“Well, he doesn’t have long to change his mind. What did he tell you about the curse, Arthur?” Merlin talked over someone else, ignoring their question.

“That it happened because he wanted protection for me. That magic users didn’t keep up their end of the deal and so he’s not bound any more. He doesn’t believe the curse will affect him.”

Merlin grumbled under his breath, eyes flashing gold for only a moment. “Is that all?”

“He wasn’t exactly volunteering information.” Anger rose in Arthur’s chest as he remembered the conversation. “What’s this about anyway? Do you know how many people died because magic was protecting me? Three men died because of Valient’s shield. Others fell before the Questing Beast, and yet I survived because someone enchanted a sword or revealed the trick or any number of things they could have done earlier, to save more lives. More than just mine.”

It occurred to him that they may not know what he was talking about just as the gazes started to slide uncomfortably away from his face.

“What exactly did you expect them to do, Arthur? Protect everyone in Camelot? We were dying by the dozens, every week more of us gone.” Merlin’s skin was fiery, the angles of his mouth sharp now. His eyes were more gold than blue. “Who was supposed to sacrifice themselves so more of your knights could live? All we wanted was a chance, and despite our best efforts, we still died and we still failed. Your father doesn’t care how many of us fell protecting you. Only that you ever witnessed magic.”

Arthur’s rage built quickly, pushing him to his feet. Once he was standing hands clenched into fists, he saw Merlin’s hand around the dragon at his throat, eyes glistening even as they glowed with power.

No one else spoke, though many leaned forward. Arthur knew if he did anything stupid, he’d end up flat on his back. Probably injured. So he left, arms swinging at his sides and nowhere for his own hurt to go.

So Merlin had lost his father protecting him.

But he’d lost his friends. He’d lost friends who had been like brothers. He’d watched the young, hopeful faces of would-be knights fade in tournaments when they’d stumbled away from Valient’s shield. He’d trudged across cold fields after fighting beasts and harbored the hollowness of survival with so many dead. He had wondered, afraid and broken, if he would be forced to survive every encounter with magic. He didn’t know how to properly mourn a parent, but he was well-versed in mourning loved ones. Loved ones who could have been saved by the magic that had saved him.

He’d been simultaneously convinced he was the force bringing danger and death to Camelot and sure that he would always be forced to survive it. He’d believed that fate would bend itself backwards to force him to endure the deaths of innocent men protecting him.

Now, he was faced with the horrifying knowledge that more had died than he thought. Magic users, dying for a chance that his father denied them still. All those deaths in vain.

When he finally entered the tent, it was dark and silent and Merlin was curled with his back to the door, hand still clutching the white dragon. Arthur crumpled to the cushion as quietly as he could, wishing he didn’t want to reach over and run a hand along Merlin’s back.

He stared into the dark, trying to make out shapes in the shadows, when Merlin spoke, a low whisper.

“I don’t know if I can do it, Arthur. But I’m sure I can’t stop it, either.”

If that was supposed to make any sort of sense, then it failed. Merlin didn’t explain further, and eventually, Arthur fell asleep.

The next morning, when the sun barely fought through the leaves, Arthur rose and left the tent to explore on his own. People were already active, children playing and adults at work.

All but the children ignored him, their eyes not budging from their tasks as he passed. The children looked at him wide eyed and curious. It didn’t take him long to notice that they were following him, imitating him as he paused to watch the trousers flapping around in the wind. He’d need to change his soon, but he was very certain that Merlin’s would not fit him in any way.

“Did Merlin really turn into a dragon?” One of the girls all but shouted out him, her fingers pointing out from her head and wiggling.

“Not exactly. I don’t know what he did.” Arthur grinned when the children moved in closer. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Ma says not to bother Emrys.” A little boy knocked his arm against his sister’s, his mouth hanging open.

“I don’t think anything bothers Merlin.” He kneeled, looking each kid in the eye. “I can ask him for you, if you’d like.” The children all nodded, their hair flailing wild in their enthusiasm.

“Did Ms. Hunith really beat you up?” The girl asked.

“Well, she certainly did hit me rather hard. But I didn’t have a sword or anything! I don’t think it can be used against me.”

“Ms. Hunith beat you up!” They all crowed with laughter, and Arthur laughed along.

“You know how to use a sword?” A couple of the boys’ eyes darted around. Arthur remembered the fascination with swords from when he was a child.

“I like to think I know how to use one.” Arthur caught every hopeful eye, grinning when he noticed one of the boys edging towards a stick on the ground. “I tell you what, I’ll teach you all swords if you’ll teach me something.”

Every one of them bobbed their agreement. Arthur would have to teach them later about agreeing so easily. At the moment, he felt lighter than he had since he came here. He watched them all race to get sticks, a few fighting over who got the biggest. When they all stood in front of him, he picked up a stick of his own and got into position.

They practiced until the parents came and chased them off, each of them glaring holes through Arthur as they grumbled about the dangers of playing with sticks. Some things were never different, from royal nannies to magic mothers. He waved at the last child to be dragged away and turned around to find Merlin leaned against a tree, grinning at him.

It appeared that being adorable with children meant he was forgiven.

“His Royal Pratness, teaching magic children to swing around sticks.” Merlin still grinned as he approached, hands at his hips. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t get used to it. I think the moms officially hate me. You know, the ones who didn’t despise me before.”

He got the impression Merlin had stopped listening when Merlin kissed him. It was the first time they’d kissed since that night in Arthur’s chambers. His thoughts stuttered to a stop. A hand cupped his cheek, Merlin’s lips moving in a slow pressure against his. He didn’t even know when he’d started kissing back, but he was. He leaned into Merlin, arms wrapped around a thin waist, and magic drumming wild over his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur spent the rest of the day in a haze. He ruined more shirts and one pair of trousers. He sorted through mushrooms, which was just as pointless as sorting the berries. Merlin put mushrooms from his yes pile into the no pile. But he did it with a smile and a bump of his shoulders and Arthur only laughed and continued working.

Everyone was still quiet and cold to Arthur. The occasional touch of Merlin’s leg against his, or the strange, wide smile that crossed Merlin’s lips, kept Arthur from minding too much. Even when Merlin disappeared halfway through chores, Arthur continued working in an easy contentedness. He did see one of the ladies pick up the separated mushrooms and dump them together with a shake of her head. He ignored her.

He’d just finally gotten the hang of not tasting lunch when he was accosted again by long arms and a narrow chest.

“You know,” Arthur said through Merlin’s lips, hands already running up his back. “You could give a man some warning.”

Merlin pulled back and stared at Arthur’s lips, his eyes glowing gold. “Arthur, I’m going to kiss you.”

And he did. It wasn’t like the other times Merlin had kissed him. Merlin’s lips bruised, his fingers twisted in the pink of Arthur’s shirt. Softness and gentleness were concepts long forgotten. Desperation clung to the press of Merlin’s hips to his. He marched backwards, palms pushing Arthur down, mouth moving sloppily down Arthur’s neck. Arthur felt magic run through his skin in warm waves of pleasure and groaned.

“Merlin?”

As much as he enjoyed the sudden attention, he could feel something wrong like a thorn under his skin. Merlin didn’t respond. Arthur stumbled back, nearly toppling onto the cushion. From the insistent push of Merlin’s hands, that’s exactly what he was meant to do. He steadied himself. “Merlin.”

He nearly stopped caring when Merlin’s fingertips, warm and quick, wiggled under his trousers. Only nearly.

“Merlin! Listen to me.” He had to step back, but he was glad he did. Merlin’s eyes were wild, still glowing gold. His lips were red, his cheeks pale. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted,” Merlin waved his arms over himself. If not for the sudden shine to his eyes, Arthur may have laughed.

He pulled Merlin forward, placing a quick kiss against his forehead. “You know I do. But something’s wrong, Merlin.”

Merlin tensed in his arms. Arthur could feel the Sorcerer’s nervous twitching, his whole body trembling at once. When he finally spoke he mumbled so quietly, Arthur hardly heard him.

“I can’t make it stop. I spent all morning looking for something to fix the curse, but Arthur, I can’t stop it.”

“I’ll make my dad see reason, Merlin. We’ll fix it before any damage is done.” Arthur frowned, thinking of the one important question he hadn’t asked until now. “What exactly does the curse even do?”

But Merlin wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were owlish again, his head cocked to the side as if he was hearing something from far away. Arthur noted that the horns were beginning to shrink, and wondered if this was some sort of after effect of the magic. He growing restless when Merlin finally spoke.

“Morgana’s here,” was all he said.

Arthur forgot about the lunch and the curse and Merlin’s odd behavior. _Morgana was here. She was alive and she had found him._

He didn’t wait for Merlin to tell him where she was. If he knew Morgana at all, she’d be easy to spot.

Sure enough, he found her dirty and rough, hair sticking out in strange directions, with a group giving her a wide berth as they craned their necks to stare at her. Gwen limped at her side, looking miraculously more put together despite her torn coat and blood smeared face.

He wanted to ask about the magic, how they’d survived. Where had they gone? How had they found him? Why hadn’t anyone told him about Morgana? But he could see from their expressions that now wasn’t the time.

“What on earth happened to you two?” He raced to their side, drawing more strange looks at his worry. “You look like you both got mauled by bears.” Murmuring broke out among the onlookers when he hugged her. He didn’t care. He wanted to yell out to them that this was his magic sister, it was Morgana, and they could all go to hell for the horrified expression on their faces.

“Well, some of your knights could qualify.” Morgana mumbled, but she gathered her shoulders and tilted up her jaw when she pulled away from him. “Arthur, you have to go back to Camelot.”

He was surprised enough that he stopped looking them over for injuries. His thoughts were most surprising of all.

He didn’t want to go back yet. He’d just gotten to this place. He'd just started to learn.

“Uther will get over his tantrum soon enough, Morgana. Arthur isn’t done here.” Merlin put voice to Arthur’s thoughts, his hand closing protectively over Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s only been two days.”

“Well, four sorcerers have already been killed in Camelot.” Gwen’s voice was cool, her eyes narrowed at Merlin’s grip. “The knights talk of nothing else around their fires at night. One of the sorceresses found was a Lady of the Court.”

Morgana’s voice didn’t waver, but her nails dug deep into her palms when she spoke. “I’ve been declared a traitor to Camelot, complicit in your kidnapping. They believe I conspired with Merlin to enchant you.” She gave Arthur a sharp look. “They are scouring the forests until they find you. Eventually they will find you here. Are they prepared to fight for you, Arthur?”

Arthur looked around the small nest of tents and clothes and baskets. He didn’t have to wonder if they’d fight for him. This wasn’t the town of power hungry, magic wielding monsters he’d been taught about. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Of course I’ve got to go.” The decision finalized, fitting and right. “I can’t let more people die.” _For me._

He turned to leave, surprised when Merlin’s grip tightened to stop him.

“Arthur, there’s more.” Merlin sounded unsure. “If you fail to convince your father about magic, there are people waiting to fight. The other magic communities around here, they’ve been hit harder than us over the years. I’ve been mostly able to protect us, but—”

“If you fail and the curse occurs, Camelot will fall, Arthur.” Morgana spoke over Merlin, her hand in Gwen’s. “The sorcerers will win and the Pendragon line will fall out of power.”

Gwen glared at Merlin outright. It was strange, to see her so angry. He couldn’t begin to wonder why.

“Then I better not fail.” This time when Arthur turned to leave, no one stopped him. Merlin didn’t follow either.

When Arthur turned towards Hunith’s tent, he heard Gwen’s voice, loud and clear, the word _cursed_ chasing his footsteps. Merlin responded, but Arthur couldn’t make out what he said.

Hunith was already waiting at her table, her eyes glittering. “He’s going with you, you know.”

“Of course he’s not. He’ll stay here to protect you and the others.” Arthur shrugged, picking up the pile of pale shirts sitting beside the cushion. If he tore one and used it to bundle the others, he’d at least have clothes. He could probably hunt for food. His recent endeavors told him that foraging would probably get him killed. “I’d never ask him to abandon you.”

“I know, Arthur.” She took in a deep breath. “I know about you two. You have to promise me that you’ll understand.”

“Understand what?”

“When he tells you, you have to promise me you’ll understand. He didn’t do it. He’s shouldered the responsibility so long, but he isn’t responsible for the curse.”

“What do you mean? Why would Merlin think he’s responsible for the curse?”

“We don’t have time for that right now. Arthur, we need to hurry.” Merlin spoke from the doorway, face pale. “Mum, stay with Will. I know he’s not powerful, but he knows how to use a sword. That’ll protect you more than anything if the knights come.”

Hunith stood and crossed the room, crushing Merlin in a hug. Arthur shifted on his feet. Merlin hugged her back, white lips twitching into a warm smile over her shoulder.

“Be safe, Merlin.” She pulled away and turned towards Arthur. He felt his pulse pick up. “I’ve known you so little, Arthur, but I can tell you’re good. You will do the right thing. It is sad that you are the one to be caught up in this.” She placed a hand on his face and rubbed her thumb along his cheek. “I believe in you.”

Arthur didn’t respond through the knot in his throat, and he was saved from making a fool of himself when Merlin groaned, his eyes on Arthur’s. “Mum, you’re going to make him impossible to work with now. He’ll be going on about how you like him better. He got a better goodbye and everything!”

Hunith laughed and nudged her son and everything was back to normal.

Merlin and Arthur left with only ruined shirts and a pouch full of herbs. Morgana walked behind them, whispering to Gwen in quick, angry tones. It wasn’t the first time they’d argued in front of Arthur, but it was certainly the strangest. Eventually, Gwen marched to Arthur’s side and stood there with her arms crossed, tossing Merlin meaningful looks on occasion.

“Gwen,” Morgana said, her voice warning. And despite not saying anything else, Gwen’s posture relaxed and her fierce glare melted into a pouty frown. She still cast Merlin wary looks on occasion, particularly when he moved too close to Arthur.

She couldn’t be jealous. Arthur had watched Morgana and Gwen cuddle and laugh and kiss for years before they’d worked out that he should marry her for Morgana’s sake. So why would she care now? Regardless, she didn’t look jealous. Just… angry, confused, worried.

Their walk was silent and to Arthur, directionless. He had no clue how far they were from Camelot or which path they were meant to follow. He had the vague feeling that everyone was following Merlin.

“So, Morgana, did you… teleport or whatever to find me?” Arthur asked.

“No.”

“Oh.” Arthur glanced at her. Her lips were thinned and her hands clenched. “Did you use magic to find me then?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He fidgeted.

“Right now, Arthur?” She sounded tired and he almost dropped it. But he had so many questions building like bile in his throat. The thought of keeping them to himself again shot a pain through his head.

“Well, I do kind of deserve something, don’t I? I go along with this plan of yours, find out I’m leaving Camelot as we’re running away, find out you have magic as I’m getting dragged away by a person with horns.” His voice grew louder and he ended with his hands in the air as everything spiraled at once. Merlin looked hurt and Gwen pursed her lips. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me, Morgana? All those years, I could have helped you.”

“Helped me with what, Arthur? How were you going to help when I set fire to my room or when I saw you break your arm in a dream _before_ you fell down the staircase? How were you going to do anything but run to Uther and tell him you were afraid?” Her voice was bitter and broken, but she didn’t seem angry at him. Just angry.

“I would have never turned you into Uther, Morgana.” It ached, that he could see how she’d think that. How all those years he’d never stepped up and stopped the burnings. He’d never saved a sorcerer.

“I had nothing to go on, Arthur.”

They didn’t speak any more after that, the silence uncomfortable in all the empty spaces.

Maybe they should have been more prepared. Two sorcerers and two trained knights should have heard snapping branches or the crunch of boots on leaves but they didn’t. They were too wrapped up in their thoughts and the work ahead, trapped inside their own minds.

When Gwaine jumped Merlin, the force of it nearly dragged Arthur down with him. Merlin’s hand clutched Arthur’s, his eyes wide when the restraints closed around his waist and feet.

“This one’s got horns now, Perce.” Gwaine said, his brow furrowed as he ran a hand along the smooth gold. “Are those real?”

Percy was busy apologizing to Morgana as he sat on top of her, her wrists held firm in his large hands. Magic was out of the fight before it even began.

He wasn’t sure why his men were ignoring him, as if he weren’t still a threat. Maybe they truly believed he was enchanted, that he was in a daze. Gwaine nearly jumped out of his boots when Arthur yanked the man’s sword from his scabbard and held it in front of him.

“Let Merlin go, Gwaine. Our fight is not with you.”

“Our fight now, Princess? I didn’t ever peg you as the magic loving type?” Gwaine put his hands up in a sign of peace, as if Arthur was a spooked horse.

Arthur glanced towards Morgana, whose expression was furious, as she muttered under her breath. There was no answering wave of power, no matter how small. Arthur looked to Merlin and saw that he was doing the same. Whatever these chains were, they were stronger than the ones they’d put on Merlin before.

“I wasn’t any type. Magic can exist in Camelot. I’ve seen their towns and met their people. They’re not dangerous.” Arthur twisted to face a knight moving behind him. There were many, and not all of them his men.

“We were told you might say something like that.” Percy said, but Gwaine was looking at Arthur as if he was unsure.

“We’re not supposed to trust anything you say.” Lancelot said from behind him. Every one of his men looked apologetic. Even Leon looked over Arthur’s head to stare at a bird fluffing it’s feathers on a tree.

“Do I look like I’ve been ensorcelled to you?” Arthur yelled. Their gazes shifted away and back again, but none of them moved to listen to him. “I order you to let them go. I’ll go with you to Camelot.”

“That’s where we were heading actually. All on our own, without chains.” Merlin turned his wrists in circles, pink surrounding where the cuffs sat against his skin.

“Shut it, sorcerer.” Sir Kay snarled. Arthur nearly groaned in irritation until Kay walked forward, eyes dead set on Merlin’s face. “I ain’t never met a sorcerer wasn’t full of tricks.”

Arthur’s slow step forward, sword in front and pointed at Kay’s chest, was met with no resistance. “I suggest you step back now, Kay. It would be unfortunate to find your neck interrupted by a hole.”

“Well, I guess we don’t need proof no more then.” Kay’s smirk sent a chill down his back. “Prince Arthur’s bending over for wizards now.” No one laughed at the joke and Kay’s smirk faded in the prevailing awkwardness.

Kay had never been one of his preferred knights. He was from before Arthur came to lead the knights and he held his father’s brutal, egregious tactics. It was those tactics that had Kay pressing in on Merlin, hand at his sword. Arthur didn’t wait for him to voice the threat.

By the time they’d pulled Arthur off of Kay, he’d done a fair bit of damage to the man’s armor. Arthur was never one to suffer threats. He ended up in chains beside Gwen, surprised to see they all wore the same style of restraints.

“Just in case anyone else has magic.” Percival mumbled to him from the corner of his mouth, shooting Morgana another unhappy look.

“Just us two, thanks.” Merlin grinned too wide. “So we’re heading to Camelot, yeah? I don’t imagine that you could make it a bit more comfortable for us, considering we were doing perfectly fine heading that way before?”

“I’m afraid we have no accommodations for magic folk.” Owain grunted. He was young and impressionable and Arthur’s stomach sank that knights like Kay were poisoning the new talent already.

“You should treat every prisoner with the respect afforded any person. All my knights know this. It’s a matter of honor and integrity. It’s what sets Camelot apart.” Owain straightened his back and nodded.

“Magic is a tool used by devils.” Kay gave a boisterous laugh, clutching at his side where Arthur had grazed him. “Some of them even look like the demons they are.”

He reached out and yanked down the horns on Merlin’s head, exposing his neck and the clench of his jaw. Arthur was surprised to hear Merlin growl, low and angry. “Don’t touch me, Knight.” The way he spit out the title, as if it were a rot in his teeth, made Kay jump back.

“Are you scared?” Merlin’s voice was still low, his eyes the dimmest gold. “Frightened of a little declawed demon?”

Arthur shivered beside Merlin. It was the first time since they’d left Camelot that Arthur saw Merlin exercise this intimidation. It shocked him to find that it was not the magic that had created that terrifying persona. It was all Merlin, who laughed with children and made knights back away trembling.

There were no more attempts to hassle Merlin, and the men already left Morgana to herself. They were all aware of Morgana’s temper and spite.

They walked through the night, the men shifting uneasily in the shadows. The knights who were loyal to Arthur exchanged looks when Arthur talked incessantly about their drills and their practices, correcting their bad habits as they trudged through leaves and mud. He watched them grow more and more uncertain as he treated them as he always did: as if he were in charge.

Merlin laughed every time a knight followed Arthur’s orders despite the fact he was a prisoner. Even Gwen couldn’t help but smirk and giggle a few times. Only Morgana sat in stony faced silence, eyes pointed ahead to Camelot.

They stumbled through the city gates at dawn, dragged to the dungeons as the servant’s rose to prepare their duties.

Morgana and Merlin were imprisoned separately. Gwen was dragged from Morgana’s side, returned to her father screaming and crying and fighting with all she had. King de Grance did not look at Arthur as he loaded Gwen onto his horse, still chained to prevent her escape. Arthur called out a promise to find her, to bring her back to Morgana. To bring her back to Camelot when all was fixed.

Arthur was left in his room and unchained. He heard the heavy thud of the bar across his door, the shuffle of feet outside as guards took their place. He listened for hours and wondered if his father was already gathering the kindle to burn the two most important people in his life.

Uther had taken so much from him. He traded away his mother’s life and plucked him from the clutches of death at the cost of so much innocence. His father’s hatred sat like a poison in Morgana’s veins, turning her against herself, smothering the power she should have rightly harnessed. He stood like an insurmountable wall between Arthur and peace, dropping arrows into Arthur’s mind that dripped with the same hate.

He thumped his fingers against his thigh, changed and clean and restless, when the guard opened the door and motioned for him to follow.

The guard was new, someone that he didn’t recognize. He followed the young man through a servant’s corridor, cautious curious. It wasn’t until they reached the dungeons, where Gwaine and Percival sat with their arms crossed and faces red from what was clearly an argument, that Arthur understood.

“So, what, did you both decide to stop being idiots at the same time or did one have to convince the other?” Arthur crossed his arms, feeling much more princely than he had in days. It helped that none of his shirts were ripped or faded and his trousers were blessedly clean.

Percival only pointed at Gwaine with an irritated scowl.

“To be fair, mate, it was a bit of you and Merlin both who convinced me. I don’t think Morgana did any work on your behalf trying to get out of her chains the whole time.” Gwaine shrugged.

“She kept muttering curses under her breath.” Percival mumbled.

“Well, now that you’ve got your head out of your asses, can you take me to see my sister?”

“Already handled. We really have the worst security that I’ve ever seen.” Gwaine headed through a door to his left.

“You would know all about rival security.” Arthur grinned when Gwaine threw his head back and laughed.

“You’re not wrong.” And Percival snickered, too.

“If you are all done having a party over there, we’re in a bit of a bind.” Morgana’s voice was cold, and Arthur flushed with embarrassment. Here he was glad he’d been in clean clothes and his sister was still in her ripped dress from days ago.

“Hey, Perce, head out into town and grab some of my shirts and pants, will ya?” Gwaine asked in a tone that was far more demand than anything. He was giving Arthur a strange look, raising his eyebrows in an unsubtle motion towards Merlin. “I think the lady would be more comfortable in something clean.”

Percival rolled his eyes. “Gwaine, you are so obvious.”

And then off he went, leaving only the four of them in the small space.

“I’ll go stand guard for the guards.” Gwaine sniggered. “I’m a guard standing guard for the guards. Ha.”

“Hilarious.” Morgana said dryly, but her bottom lip twitched.

They were alone again.

“I promised Gwen I’d get her back to Camelot.” Arthur said, and as soon as he said it he realized it was woefully inadequate.

“If I’ve not been burned alive by then.” Morgana was the strongest person Arthur had ever known, but her voice broke over the words. Merlin said nothing, his face draining color.

“I’m not going to let that happen.” Arthur looked at Merlin, catching his eyes. “To either of you.”

“Arthur, there’s something you need to know,” Merlin started.

“You don’t want to do that Merlin.” Morgana said, almost simultaneously.

“He needs to know.”

“And if you tell him now, what will that do for everyone else?”

“Tell me what?” Arthur demanded. He had enough of secrets.

“The curse is—”

“Hate to interrupt this lovely meeting, but you guys are about to get a really horrible surprise.” Gwaine burst through, and Merlin looked murderously at him. “Sorry, birdy, but King Uther’s coming down the steps right now and when he catches Arthur in here it’s going to confirm everything.”

“He’s going to say we’ve put a spell on Arthur and that’s why Arthur’s so concerned with us.” Morgana said.

“That’s the tale he’s been spinning since Princess here ran off.”

“Gwaine, you really shouldn’t call me that.”

“Is that important right now, Arthur?” And this time it was Merlin who snapped, eyes shining and red rimmed. “Listen, it’s important, the curse is yours. It’s your curse.”

Arthur didn’t have time to think about what that meant. Uther slammed through the door with murder in his eyes. “Arthur, stop behaving like a fool.”

“She’s my sister, I’ll not abandon her.” Arthur blocked the way to the prison door. The pressure in his chest lightened when Gwaine stood beside him, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“And the boy? Does your protection extend to him?” Uther looked down his hawkish nose.

The old familiar fear made Arthur hesitate. The years old reaction, to back down, to back out, lodged like a rock in his throat. And then he looked at Merlin.

Merlin was staring at his feet, his hands folded in his lap. He wasn’t moving, hardly breathing, as he waited on Arthur’s reply.

“Of course it extends to Merlin. It extends to all magic.” Gwaine stiffened at this, and Arthur could practically hear him reconsidering his position. “I’ve been there father, I’ve seen what they can do. Most of them are no more dangerous than a peasant with a pitchfork.”

“If you get enough of them, Arthur, even the most harmless peasant can topple a kingdom.”

“Then I guess we better not give them a reason to. Think about what you’re saying father. We’ve done nothing but kill and anger them for years. And they’ve still protected me, lost lives in the hopes that it would all mean something one day.”

“They’ve put a spell on you, Arthur. Once he’s gone you’ll not feel this anymore.”

“You will do anything to justify yourself.” Morgana sneered from behind him. He could hear her chains hitting the bars. “You are spineless and weak, a monster. You kill innocent children accused of sorcery. You kill people who are terrified and powerless because you made a mistake twenty years ago.”

“Morgana, it will sadden me greatly to kill you. You were always so spirited.” Uther walked towards the prison door, but Arthur blocked his way. “But magic, no matter how close to the throne, cannot be tolerated.”

And then Uther left without glancing back at his son. Arthur chased after him.

He didn’t get his father’s attention until they entered the throne room, several court members sitting stiff backed in their chairs. They all avoided him. He could feel the subject of magic hanging in the room like sour air.

“You will keep your promise, father. You will let them have a trial, you will reconsider the bans on magic.” Arthur paused, watching his father’s expression. “And if you are honest, you will repeal them. Banning magic has done more harm than good. We don’t know how to defend ourselves. We don’t know anything about magic any more. There is an endless well of resources we don’t know how to use because you refuse to realize that magic isn’t a problem you can snuff out.”

“Are you about done, Arthur?” Uther sat, smoothing his vest down in his familiar Kingly way.

Arthur gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain calm. “If you refuse to reconsider the bans on magic, to keep your word as a King, I will leave. There will be no Pendragon heir. Your line and power will end with your death. And you will die, alone and bitter and without protection or kindness.” His gaze did not waver from his father’s. For the first time since Merlin had stormed into their castle, Arthur saw the gleam of desperate fear in his father’s eyes.

“You think the people will change their mind after all you’ve pulled? They’ve heard of your friend’s power over you. They’ve heard how he came in here and threatened the line. You think they will support a Prince who has become so ensnared that he will speak for the enemy?”

“I think the people deserve the chance to speak on the matter, Father.” Arthur crossed his arms, his jaw clenched as he bit down the anxiety blooming in his chest.

“Merlin will die tonight, and you will be freed from this spell.” Uther waved him away.

“I will leave tonight, Father. No more Pendragons.” Arthur leaned forward, his face inches from Uther’s. “If you think there are no men who would follow me, you are wrong. If you think there are no sorcerer’s out there who would rally behind me, you are wrong. If you think I am powerless without Camelot, you are wrong.”

Arthur hadn’t realized it was true until he said it. He knew, now, that Gwaine and Percival would be by his side. He knew that Hunith would fight with him. And that others would fight with Hunith. And there were others in Camelot, people he had helped, those loyal to Morgana, those with family who had died, who would stand behind him.

Uther tapped his fingers, looking at the carefully blank faces of the other men at court. “If I allow this meeting to discuss the appeal of magic bans, you’ll stay and be satisfied.”

“If it is a true trial, then I will be satisfied.” Arthur paused, considering his words. “You cannot kill any magic users before the trial. There will be no show of force to frighten people into choosing your way. It will be a fair trial.”

Uther gave Arthur a level stare. “Of course.”

Arthur left with a sinking stomach. There was no way to guarantee a fair trial or the safety of his sister and Merlin, but he’d done his best.

That didn’t stop him from sprinting down the hallway, turning down servant’s stairs and through shortcuts until he came to the dungeon doors. Guards were standing, new ones who hadn’t trained under Arthur. Arthur took a moment outside the corridor to regain his composure, breathing in through his nose and out of his mouth until he was no longer panting. Then he stepped around the corner, posture regal and eyes narrowed.

“I am here to tell the prisoners their fate.” Arthur said it as pompously as he could, nose pointed up and hands behind his back. His chest was still rising and falling too quickly, his fingers trembling where they were held behind him.

“Sire.” They bowed, their faces unsure. “We were told not to let anyone pass.”

“Well, I’m the Prince, and I said to let me pass.” Arthur put his hands out, gesturing around him. “I don’t see anyone else here, so I suggest you let me through.”

“Yes, Sire.” They scrambled out of his way, dragging the door open.

Thank God for the strength of immediate intimidation. Arthur walked calmly through the doors, and then rushed forward as soon as he heard it close behind him.

“I’ve convinced father to do the trial.” He stepped purposefully towards Merlin’s bars, twirling the ring on his finger. “He’s supposed to ensure it’s fair.”

“Arthur, how on earth…?” Morgana stopped, mouth dropping open. He was glad to see she was in baggy, clean men’s clothing. “You threatened to leave. You threatened to leave Camelot. Permanently.”

“I would’ve come back. Eventually.” Arthur took a deep breath. “With some help, of course.”

“You threatened war on your dad?” Merlin’s voice sounded full of awe.

“Not like it was original or anything. You did it first.” Merlin gave him a strange look. “With the whole grape and end of the Pendragon line and all that. I literally said the exact same thing you said, just more Princely.”

“You are such a prat,” But Merlin was watching him with interest.

He pried the ring off his finger, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. It didn’t shine, dull from years of constant wear. His hand felt lighter. Merlin furrowed his brows, tilting his head to the side. His horns scraped against the stone wall and he flinched.

“You are the clumsiest sorcerer, you know that? You even manage to hurt yourself with your magical power horns.” Arthur shook his head and tried to keep his breath from hitching when Merlin flashed a bright smile at him.

“You can insult me all you want, clotpole. You’ve managed to do the impossible.” Merlin was still looking at the hand with the ring in it.

“Not yet. Look, I just,” Arthur stepped forward, reaching through the bars until his hand connected with Merlin’s arm. He pulled Merlin forward until he was as close to the door as he could be. “I want you to take this in case I end up having to leave. Promise me you won’t let them burn you.” He looked away, cheeks red. “Either of you.”

“Arthur, this is your mother’s ring.” Merlin said, as if Arthur had meant to pull off some other, imaginary ring. “It belonged to Ygraine.”

“Yes, thank you for your insight. I was trying to do one of those grand gestures and whatnot, but if you really don’t want it—” The kiss was a bit awkward through the bars, but it sufficiently shut him up.

“Oh God, is that what I have to look forward to when I get out of here? I’m going to be sick.” But Morgana was smiling at him, as if he’d done some great thing.

“You and Gwen are worse.”  Morgana had the decency to blush, but Merlin laughed, loud. “Hush. If the guards think I’m in here having fun with you they’ll report to Father and I’ll really be on lock down.”

“You best be going then. You’ve probably been in here too long.” Morgana said.

“Right.” Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand and grinned one more time before he stepped away and forced his grin to fade.

He stalked from the room, stomping around the corner until he was out of sight of the guards. And then he sprinted again. He wouldn’t have long before his dad tried to lock him into his rooms again. He was lucky he’d managed to rush out before his Father could order the guards on him.

He ran until he found Leon standing in the armory, considering swords and shields. He skidded to a halt and nearly knocked over a pile of armor. “Leon, please tell me you know where Gwaine and Percival are.”

“I know where they are.” Leon said, straight faced.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Do you actually know where they are, or are you being an arse?”

“They’re on the field with Lancelot. They insisted on a late training session since they’ve missed for the last couple of days.” Leon shrugged.

Arthur was beyond glad that his knights were able to talk so frankly with him. They may obey his orders and tip toe around his Princishness, but they were certainly friends. It was a relief that he hoped would continue to not disappoint him. “Come with me to the field. Now. It’s urgent.”

“Does this have anything to do with that big speech you gave Uther?”

“You already know about that?”

“Sire, every knight knows about that speech already. Half of them joined Gwaine on his _training session_ and I can guarantee you that most of them don’t even have their swords out.”

“Wow, you are all incredibly obvious aren’t you?” Arthur grabbed a practice sword off of the wall and nearly sighed with how good it felt to hold a weapon again. He wasn’t used to living without swords and practice and chainmail and armor. “What if my dad has people watching to see how I behave?”

“Then it will do him good, Sire, to see that you were not bluffing.”


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur didn’t have long to worry about what his father would say. He marched onto the field and was buried in arms with clinking metal and leather gloves. He had always known his men were loyal, but never been so sure as when he walked onto the field and was hailed as though he’d returned from campaign.

He’d gone off to magic. They could treat him as a traitor. He’d half expected that they would. Yet, here they were.

“I hope you don’t mind that I told the boys your ridiculous plan,” Gwaine shouted in his ear. “We figured we’d show you our support.”

“Well, you know, it never hurts to put on a good show.” And with that, he and the knights fought harder than ever, grinning and hooting at each well placed maneuver.

They didn’t miss that the old knights watched with keen eyes and restless hands at their hilts. Arthur knew they’d need more than a handful of knights to defend his position if it came down to a confrontation.

This was a threat of war. To treat it like anything less was a risk Arthur wasn’t taking. He’d stepped back from the practice with a satisfied grin and muscles worn to near collapse. Then he’d snuck away, dragging Gwaine along with him as the rest of the knights shuffled around. Perceval and Leon watched them leave, their voices loud and distracting as Arthur turned towards the dungeons.

“I need you to get down to Merlin and get his and Morgana’s chains off. I need you to give them a message.” He ducked under a low doorway, sidling through a narrow entryway. “I need you to tell them to send warnings to the magical communities, to ask for back up. To tell them I’m trying to bring magic back. They can’t leave though. If the King finds them gone, he’ll claim I’ve broken my agreement.”

Gwaine sucked in a breath. “You prepared for this, Princess?” Gwaine leaned against the stone wall, running a hand through sweat wet hair. “This is going to change everything.”

Arthur shrugged and pushed Gwaine forward. “That’s the goal.”

He ran, leaving Gwaine to find his way down to the dungeons himself.

He hoped Merlin understood. He hoped Merlin would be safe.

He raced to his room and informed his guard not to bother him. There, he dipped in his quill and began writing. Draft one, draft two, lines and blocks of black ink and rewordings and a thousand edits later, and he was satisfied.

He couldn’t argue on the side of magic like a magic user could, from experience and passion.

But he could argue like a king. He could bring up numbers and figures and deaths and advantages that would matter in Uther’s court. He could make it personal. He could make it real. He could make it matter. He knew the trigger words to force them to listen. And if his father kept his word, whether because of pride or duty, he would be ready to prove they needed magic again.

It was late into the night, his stomach growling and his candle flickering out, before he curled into his bed and slept. He dreamed of magic children teaching him tricks with sticks.

He woke to a pounding on his door. Sun spilled across the papers on his desk. Gwaine shouted something, something about Merlin and Morgana and Arthur stumbled to the door in a hazy panic before he caught the words.

“There’s crowds of people waiting outside for the case to start. You better hurry before they break through the gates.”

“Yeah, yeah. One second.” Arthur hopped around to pull on his trousers and his belt, fighting to force his best boots over his calves. He tossed on his blue shirt and combed his hair into a half decent style.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get everything on and ready so quickly, but before Gwaine finished pacing around the hallway, Arthur was popping through the door. He couldn’t hide the twitch of his hand.

“Are you ready for this, Princess?”  
“Will you stop asking that, Gwaine? And stop calling me Princess.” Arthur marched forward, arms swinging in a false bravado. “Seriously, I am the prince. It would do someone good to remember that.”

“Oh, I think we all remember it today.” Gwaine’s eyes were bright with pride beneath his ever present playfulness. Arthur only looked away and continued forward.

He still didn’t know what was going to happen. He could hear Uther, already beginning his tirade on the dangers of magic. They were old arguments, probably from before Arthur had even been born. They’d lost their shine.

The people no longer lived in harrowing fear of cackling witches. They lived in fear of starvation and tyranny and false accusations. They lived in fear of overcrowded prisons and snide, accusatory remarks that cost them their women and their young men. Nothing Uther could say would over-ride twenty one years of unending desolation.

Arthur slid through the doors, watching the men with a close eye. The court was full today, every chair filled. Word travelled through Camelot fast. He could see in the steely stare of the common people that they were all eager for the outcome. Everything pivoted on Arthur.

The men were only barely listening to Uther’s argument, his reminders of past crimes and recent skirmishes. By the time his father sat, his face smug and his crown resting securely on his head, Arthur was certain he’d succeed. No one believed his father any more. His theories had been tested and they’d failed.

So Arthur stood, his boots loud against the stone floor. He spread out his papers and his plans and took a deep breath to steady his legs and his mind and he spoke.

He pointed out the similarities of those hunted (always poor, always dissenters) and the lack of distinction between a sorcerer and a farmer. He questioned the efficiency of the current model, wondering aloud whether every man and woman burned at the stake was guilty. He outlined the advantages of learning to use magic in Camelot’s defenses, of learning to use magic in the towns, of building peace with this people who knew the behaviors and workings of beasts they’d gone against without so much as a whisper of knowledge. He brought out figures of those lost, both in protection of him and in the preventable illnesses and attacks. He talked at length until his mouth was dry and his throat was sore and his papers were finished. And when he looked up, his stomach sank into his boots.

The court hadn’t listened to a word he said. This wasn’t a court of men already tired with the current system and arguments. This was a court that had made up its mind before convening. He wondered what had even been the point.

Beyond the seats at the table, the people were agitated. They were whispering among themselves, every hard eye watching the men scribbling on paper.

Uther stood and hushed the onlookers, his smile benevolent. “Now that each argument has been made, let’s hear the opinions of the court.”

Arthur shook in his seat as every man stood, the same bland excuse worded differently for their denial of the repeal. Anger twisted like a knife in his gut. His father’s smug smile across the room called for blood, called for fighting.

He’d promised a fight. Unlike his father, he kept his promises.

“Now, Arthur, you see that your request was foolish. No one here wants magic returned to Camelot. They remember what you don’t.” Uther grinned wider, hands spread out as if in peace. It was a show and it was meant to trap Arthur.

“No, I don’t think so Father.” Arthur stood and heard the chair crash behind him. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. “These men no more made the decision to keep the bans on magic than to repeal them. They decided on safety and ease, to keep you off their tails. It could not be plainer to those of us here that this trial was not fair.”

“Just because you lost, son, doesn’t mean that I cheated.”

Arthur growled, his anger flushing his cheeks. “I will prove that this trial was stilted against me and then I will uphold my word, father.”

Uther didn’t seem to believe him. Arthur’s blood chilled when Uther waved his hand out, beckoning guards into the room.

At the end of swords and ropes were Morgana and Merlin, their faces blank. Morgana looked beyond Uther, cheeks pale and hands trembling. Tears spilled, but she did not show her fear on her face.

“As a show of how committed we are to the cause, these will be our first sorcerers burned after the upheld bans.” Uther leaned onto the table, brows drawn up in mocking seriousness. “Let it be a lesson to you, Arthur, that you do not make Kingly decisions until I concede the crown.”

Uther had only just turned his back when Merlin spoke, voice slithering through the room with the familiar buzz of magic.

“Any man whose decision was bought or threatened, raise your voice.”

An answering wave of ‘Ayes’ echoed around the rooms. Each man who spoke slapped his hand across his mouth with horror. Uther stilled, back straight.

“The chains prevent the use of magic. How are you—” Uther didn’t finish his question. Merlin was already free, his eyes already blazing gold.

“You will allow magic, Pendragon. This is your last chance to uphold your word or the curse will be carried out in one form or another.” Merlin’s voice boomed across the room, too loud and too deep. It sounded wrong, felt wrong.

The horns were no longer shrinking. They were bright and bold and glimmering. Merlin’s eyes were owlish and wide again. Arthur didn’t think, _couldn’t think_ , of what that meant and so he turned to the crowd behind him. They moving already, fluctuating between fear and confusion and anger. They needed a purpose, a direction.

Arthur would give them one. “Your sons and your daughters have lived in fear of sorcery, and at what cost? Those who would help us are outlawed. Accusations fly unproven and unwarranted, killing innocents. Those who are proven guilty rarely are guilty of more than starting their fire or drying their clothes. If one can burn for so little, then what is the cost of your lives? We must create the change ourselves if those who would uphold the law will not change.” He lifted his sword. “I advocate no more death, but our justice is no justice if it does not protect the people under its law.”

The chaos erupted without warning, people pushing forward and grabbing what they could. Uther hollered to bring in the guards, but none came. Morgana gave Arthur a wide eyed look and rushed away, the chains falling off from where they barely held to her wrists.

Arthur dashed outside the throne room, down the hallway and the steps and into a maelstrom of magic and swords clashing. The group of sorcerers were small, but their faces were hard and their hands bloody. Darker magic than any he’d seen swooped through the press of guards and crushed them back, Arthur’s and Uther’s alike.

“Merlin!” He didn’t know what Merlin was to do, but he was the only one Arthur could think of with any authority over the coming force. “Merlin, where on earth are you?”

The wall behind him caved. Stone and dust rained down and knocked him back. He caught sight of Morgana disappearing several yards away, her eyes glassy when she studied the men around her. She was there and then she wasn’t. Her shape faded away in the debris.  Arthur barely had time to wonder where she’d gone.

Blue eyes and an eternity of white scales glistened at him, a violent scream tearing through the air around them. The beast was leaned forward, large head bumping Arthur’s leg. It let out a low growl and the eyes, impossibly big and a familiar stormy color, shined briefly gold. Arthur found gold horns and the unmistakable weight of magic around him.

“Merlin?” Arthur reached out a hand and ran it along the narrow snout of the beast. The skin was hot and smooth and glistening in the sun. It was cannily similar to the dragon Merlin kept around his neck. “You better be able to turn back.”

The dragon chuckled and then he was off, wings spread and magic swirling as he hefted himself up. Arthur didn’t have time to watch him, but he trusted Merlin. Merlin would protect as much as fight.

He had to trust that Merlin wouldn’t allow undue death.

“Arthur, I thought the magic people were on our side?” Leon’s sword clashed against something heavy. Stone crashed to the side of them. “They seem to just be on their own side.”

“They’re on Merlin’s side, and unfortunately, Merlin is a dragon.”

Leon took a moment to stop and stare at Arthur. The look on his face was priceless, and if Arthur had time, he would have hired someone to paint it out. He didn’t have the many, many hours that would take at the moment, so he only shrugged and pushed past. He had to get to his father and figure out what to do with him.

From the looks of it, Camelot would come out the other side of this battle a completely different kingdom. He had to hope it wouldn’t come out with a dead king.

He found Uther in the throne room. Sweat soaked his brow and his shirt as he fought against three sorcerers. They toyed with him, bouncing rock and earth and blade off him as easily as breathing. They jeered and laughed and their voices cut through the large space.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He pushed hard at a leaning wall that toppled down to distract the sorcerer’s attack, before he lunged forward. In only a few seconds he had Uther behind him, cornered and protected at once. He hoped for cooperation but was not at all surprised when he felt the point of his father’s blade against his back.

Arthur’s concentration zeroed down to the four points of attack in the room. He could no more watch sorcerers kill his father than he could allow his father to continue killing sorcerers. So he stepped forward, the weight of his father’s sword still heavy against his spine, and dropped his weapon and his shield.

His father sniggered behind him and the sorcerers raised their eyebrows.

“I’m not here to fight magic.” Arthur spoke clearly, arms up. He could feel the tip of his father’s blade push into the fabric of his shirt. “A war was never what I wanted.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His father was putting on a show of power, a cocky and dangerous game. Arthur had practiced long and hard with his knights for years on how to defend, how to bounce back from the wrong end of a fight. And now Uther was showing his weakness. His overconfidence. His belief that Arthur was too spineless to really stand up to him.

Arthur ducked low, the blade ripping through his shirt as he swung his foot around and kicked low at Uther’s feet. The swoosh of a sword through the air, the twang of metal against stone, and then Uther blinked at him, defenseless.

Everything happened too quickly. The sorcerers shouted, Arthur was tackled away, and Uther was reduced to a smolder on the floor. Arthur wrenched forward, mouth hanging open, anger and hurt grinding in his chest. He couldn’t see who held him. He didn’t care. He strained against them and wrestled teary eyed to where the sorcerers stood in defense. They eyed him warily and Arthur knew they only refrained from killing him because of whoever held him.

“Arthur, you have to understand.” It was Morgana’s voice in his ear. He recognized her arms wrapped around his torso. “You have to understand, Arthur. They have lived in so much fear. So much hurt.”

And Arthur knew she was right. Uther would have killed Merlin and Morgana. It was his selfishness that sacrificed Ygraine and his hate that cut holes into Arthur’s life. Uther was the core of so much bad, and yet, Arthur still hurt to his bones.

“I’ve brought Gwen back.” She whispered, arm’s still holding Arthur despite his halted struggle. “That’s where I went. If I would have known, Arthur, I wouldn’t have left so quickly.”

“You deserve to have her here.” Arthur stared out the hole in Camelot’s wall, past the sorcerers who’d murdered a sword-less man. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”  
“About that…” Morgana took a shaky breath. “I think we need to find Gwen. And Merlin.”

Arthur’s mind flashed back to Merlin, white scales and gold horns and blue eyes and power like waves rolling off of him. He wondered, briefly, if Merlin was still a dragon and if he’d be able to turn back easily and quickly. Hunith had said the effects could last for days.

“Just tell me, Morgana.” Arthur felt a tiredness sweep through him. Running around this secret and this threat of confession was exhausting. He was ready for this to be over with.

“It’s about the curse.” Morgana stopped, hands wringing in front of her. “You always find out about it and go a bit mad, and it’s the worst thing, Arthur.” She sucked in a breath, looking him in the eyes.

“Morgana, I can handle it.” He reached for her, but she stepped away, the shine of guilt in her eyes.

“You really can’t, Arthur.” He didn’t have time to ask what she meant before she spoke again, voice hurried and panicked. “It’s your curse. It was never going to affect Uther.”

“Merlin said the same thing, but that doesn’t make any sense. I was just an infant when the curse was made. Why would they curse me?”

“To punish Uther, Arthur. To take away from him what magic had given.” She took a deep breath. “To remove you from the line at Camelot’s greatest hour. You were meant to die, but Balinor…”

“Balinor?” Arthur was too hot in his battle torn clothes, anger burning up his skin. All this time, no one had told him. And Merlin had known, even while he pressed kisses to his lips.

“Balinor changed it. I don’t know how, the spell is too strong to read well.” She grabbed his arm when he turned away, eyes stinging. “He tried to tell you, Arthur, but it never was going to turn out well. No matter when he finally said it.”

“Morgana, just because you have magic and some kind of future power doesn’t mean that you can decide what’s best for me. I’ve trusted Merlin. I left Camelot for Merlin, I possibly started a war because of him. And now you’re saying he didn’t have the decency to tell me?”

“Balinor died saving you from certain death, Arthur. He left the burden of the curse on Merlin. He’s lived under that weight all his life. Surely you can understand?” Morgana’s hand slipped from his arm, her words an echo from another woman pleading Merlin’s case.

Everyone had known. Even Hunith. Everyone he’d trusted. He was a fool.

Spells and swords and fists flew around him, but he headed straight to where he could see the dragon hanging in the air, large wings pale and looming over Camelot. He marched onward, resolute as Merlin let loose warning fire and knocked knights and sorcerers alike back with the force of his wings. It was clear that Merlin was a moderator, a peacekeeper. As much in both worlds as Arthur was.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, his throat dry and his voice cracking. “Merlin, get down here!”

Slow and careful, Merlin’s gleaming white snout lowered, his wide, round eyes unfocussed. He lowered in jerky movements, graceless and heavy. His landing shook the ground, but he only continued to stare expectantly.

“I need you to stop being a dragon for this, _Mer_ lin.” He glared until the scales glowed gold, magic thick and heavy in the air.

Nothing happened. Merlin continued to stare at him, eyes dazed and wide and magic heavy and gold and yet nothing happened.  

“Merlin?” Arthur stepped forward, arm reaching out even as Merlin moved back. “You can turn back can’t you?”

Arthur remembered Hunith, eyes cast down. _More dragon than man, I suspect._

“You said you’ve done it two times before.” Something ugly and frantic and needy clawed its way up Arthur’s chest. “You aren’t stuck as a dragon, Merlin. Come on. It’s not funny.”

Merlin’s gold faded, but not his scales. The large dragon body didn’t shrink, the blue eyes didn’t blink or flash or change. Arthur rushed forward until his palm connected to stone hard scales, smooth and warm under his hand. Merlin twisted, wordless but loud.

“You can’t get out of this conversation by refusing to turn back.” Arthur stomped his foot, not caring if he sounded like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “You lied to me! You let me think I was protecting Camelot from ruin, from a tyrant King. I’ve been paving the way for you all this time.” The words rose like bile in his throat and didn’t stop. Even as Merlin pulled away, dragging him forward. “Merlin, dammit, you can’t be stuck a dragon!” He screamed and pulled back and was nearly to the point of outright protest when Merlin stopped moving away.

And the glowing started again.

He shrunk in Arthur’s hands. The long neck melted into shoulders and human and soft skin. The scales fell in disappearing petals of crystal. It took forever and no time at all, a slow process that was over before Arthur could blink. And then there was Merlin, eyes wild, mouth thin, hair rucked up in all directions. For just the moment, relief chased away Arthur’s anger.

Arthur tugged down the horns to expose the softness of Merlin’s neck. He bit, maybe harder than he should have, maybe over eager, but Merlin gasped into him and gripped his shirt and Arthur was overrun with the feel of him beneath his teeth and tongue, yielding. Merlin’s skin was everywhere, a thigh under his fingertips, his chest pressed hot against the fabric of Arthur’s shirt.

Everything rushed back when Merlin’s fingers brushed tentatively through his hair, the anger crashing against his relief with a sickening flood of memory. His father dying, Morgana’s nervousness, the curse and its origins. He jerked away, nearly undone at the confusion on Merlin’s face.

“I thought I could trust you.” Arthur’s voice was tight and his hand still gripped the horns on Merlin’s head. Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, but when he spoke, it was with hurt.

“Of course you can trust me, Arthur.”

But Arthur could see the worry in all the conflicting gold and blue and it made his stomach churn. So much to say and so many ways to say it, they all clogged up his mouth until he turned back towards the castle, back towards the dining hall, back towards the place where all this started. He didn’t think about what a sight they were, Merlin exposed and disoriented and following Arthur. He didn’t have to look behind him to be sure. He could feel the touch of magic against his skin like a tether holding them together. He could hear Merlin protesting behind him, growing increasingly louder.

“Arthur, what on earth is going on?” Merlin practically yelled, and the magic snapped up against him like a physical blow.

He swung around, eyes fiery and mouth snarled. “My father is dead because of this curse. My castle is in ruins. My people are at war. And you never once told me that I was the one cursed, that this falls across my shoulders. I don’t even know what it is.”

“I tried to tell you Arthur, but something always happened.”

“You could have told me any number of times. You could have told me that first night in my chambers. You could have told me in the dungeons before I broke you out.” Arthur lunged forward, grasping Merlin’s arms, hot and cold with hurt. “You could have told me any time in the last week. What is it?”

Merlin said nothing, neck craned away and eyes closed.

“WHAT IS IT?” Arthur screamed loud enough that a pair of young knights, breaking from battle to tend to their armor, jumped away.

Merlin still didn’t look at him, his cheeks reddened all the way to his ears. “Eternal sleep. So that you’d never be able to be King. It was meant to destroy the Pendragon line.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold. Eternal sleep was no different from death. He’d wondered, when his father was demanding and his duties were endless and his efforts were thankless, what it would be like to dream and never wake up. He wasn’t so keen on the idea now. “How long do I have?”

“I don’t know. I would have thought it would have already happened. I wasn’t sure if it was waiting for you to get back in the castle or if there was something else it needed.” Merlin wriggled in Arthur’s grip, and Arthur let him go.

“What do you know of the curse?”

“Only that my father placed it when I was a child. I have done everything in my power to keep it from coming to pass. I don’t know how to remove it. I don’t even know exactly how it begins. I was meant to come here twenty one years after my father cast the spell and remind Uther. I was supposed to make sure he upheld his part of the bargain. I can’t be blamed for the work of my father, and neither can you.”

“My father’s dead!” Arthur’s cry rang out loud, bouncing back from stone and earth and sky. He could feel the fighting around him stop, zeroed in on the proclamation that magic had won.

Merlin didn’t defend himself, but he didn’t follow Arthur when he continued to the castle. He wasn’t even sure why he was going back now.

He was surprised to find the dining hall dusted over. Spider’s web draped over chairs. A blanket of musk clung to the room. Everything was suffocated by old air and the smell of dirt and time. He could see, like ghosts, Merlin sitting to the right of his chair, licking his fingers and laughing as if he and Arthur were old friends and himself, beside Merlin and grinning like an idiot. It made his chest tight and his eyes sting.

Despite the room’s dreary greyness, something shined from the corner. His gifts were stacked and piled together, the sharp edge of one catching whatever little light filtered through to cast spots against the dark floor.

He recognized it even now.

_I brought a gift._

The memory soured in his gut. Merlin, power and glittering gold and mystery, standing over the table and threatening his home. Threatening more than Arthur knew.

He crossed the room in a few quick steps, heaving the shapeless bundle up with effort. It was heavy and thick with magic, but he was too angry to care. It burned in his hands, anger running up his neck and through his mind like the worst alcohol. It buzzed loud and powerful. He pivoted, bracing his foot against the hard stone, and threw the awkward package at the wall.

He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe to feel a bit better, maybe to be less confused, less betrayed. Still, the package only bounced off the wall and shattered open, spilling everywhere with a horrible _tink tink_ like he’d just hurled a bunch of fairies to their deaths. It was anticlimactic and frustrating, and left the floor littered with shards of shining glass.

Arthur squinted at the slivers reflecting more light than could possibly be in the room. He couldn’t tell exactly what color they were. Blue? White? Clear? He leaned forward to look closer, wondering what the gift had been before he’d demolished it. Somewhere, a sound far away, he could hear his name said soft and panicked and breathless. He reached out to pick up a shard, sure he saw some pattern gleaming at him from the edge.

It cut, deep and red and searing. He was bleeding and drowning and falling and then, quick as a breath, everything was black.

His name still echoed, soft on waves of sleep like he hadn’t had in years, from some distant place. But Arthur couldn’t hear any more.

*******

Merlin entered the room just as Arthur kneeled, eyes glazed over in an unnatural wonder. He’d just wanted to talk, to explain, to fix whatever had gone wrong so quickly. He’d questioned, calling out Arthur’s name, to get no answer. He couldn’t cross the room fast enough, couldn’t leap over the table or yell loud enough to stop it from happening.

And then Arthur fell forward, cheek crushing against the shattered crystal, grinding and slicing as he slid.

The pain should have woke him. Merlin’s frantic yelling; the jarring, terrified way he shook Arthur’s shoulder; the desperate, sloppy spells he cast over the Prince as if he hadn’t tried a thousand times before to break this curse with magic.

Arthur slept through it all. And Merlin wept, was still weeping when Gwen and Morgana broke through, a cheer dying on their lips the moment they took in the scene.

It was Gwen who screamed, her throat already raw from the fight. She tore to Merlin and yanked him away by the hair, tears gathering and curses on her lips. Merlin didn’t resist, even when she slammed him down and screamed questions at him that he couldn’t answer.

All he could see, playing over like a bad show, was Arthur kneeling, so lost, so far away.

“Gwen! Gwen, he didn’t do it. He didn’t cause this.” Morgana spoke for him, but her voice was tight and her hands were shaking and she wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m so sorry,” broke from him before he could reel it in, spilling out a dozen more times before Gwen hit him, hard. He stopped talking because he couldn’t blame her for the anger, really.

“We need to get him moved,” Gwen said. She was already dragging Arthur, hands under armpits, lurching one step back at a time.

Merlin didn’t wait or say anything before he lifted Arthur with magic, careful to dust off glittering shards of crystal. He ignored Gwen’s indignant huff and pushed against his magic, sending it up. He followed Arthur’s well-worn steps in the castle stone, highlighted by the glow of Merlin’s power to lead him to the hidden exit behind the King’s chair, twisting through the small staircase until they reached the door. Arthur did not bump or bang into the walls, but even if he had it wouldn’t have mattered.

Eternal sleep.

A curse like death but far more cruel. A curse of hope, of wanting, of waiting.

Merlin felt it twist like a red hot fire poker in his gut. As he lay Arthur on his bed, pale skin and blue shirt clashing against the red covers, Merlin fought down a wave of nausea.

“You’ll fix this, Merlin.” Gwen’s voice was hard, her eyes shining like glass. Her knuckles were white against the bed frame. “He’s been our best friend since we were children. I won’t lose him.”

Merlin took a moment to respond. He didn’t look away from Arthur’s face, didn’t remove his hand from where Arthur’s chest rose in deep, even breaths. When he finally spoke, it was with determination and strength that he couldn’t possibly fee. “Tell everyone that Arthur has been wounded but will recover. Tell them that there’s a physician tending to him, and that no one is to enter this room for fear of upsetting the Prince.”

“He’s a King now in all but name, Merlin.” Morgana said. “We don’t have a lot of time before the people demand to see him.”

Merlin sucked in a breath and nodded. Magic pulsed from his hand in a tenuous line to Arthur’s beating heart, threads of power sinking into the cords of muscle and twists of veins. He didn’t hear Morgana and Gwen leave.

He was lost in the slow thrum of life at his palm when he felt the first tears fall.

_“Oh, Pendragon. You’re barely there at all.”_

It was three days before the door yielded to anyone. Three days before Gwen broke through, fear on her brow and fist poised over the creaking wood. Merlin hadn’t emerged since he’d begun, and when she finally saw him, he looked like a mess.

His hair was disheveled and his eyes rimmed in red, sunken into the black smudges above his cheeks. His lips were bruised from nervous biting. Even Gwen’s anger couldn’t survive the wreck that was Merlin.

“Merlin, come on. We need to make a statement.” She pulled him to his feet, a gentler touch than any she’d given him before. “We need to tell the people, see if anyone out there knows anything.”

“I know where to find the answers.” Merlin swayed on his feet. He sounded hollow. Gwen dropped her hands from his, frowning.

“Morgana told me what she’s seen of you and Arthur.” She said, quiet and soft, as if she spoke to a startled child. “She told me about the fight before.”

“It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t save him.” Merlin glanced back at Arthur still laying, unmoving. “I couldn’t change anything.”

“There are so many things you don’t know, Merlin. So much about Arthur that you haven’t seen. He’s my best friend. It would crush Morgana and me to lose him.” She took a shaky breath and shook her head. “I want to trust you, Merlin. Obviously Morgana does. But I just can’t.”

“I understand.” He did. She had shown up with Morgana to find Arthur entirely different from when he’d left, still unaware of the curse and the truth before it was too late. She had seen Merlin’s protectiveness and mistook it for possessiveness, seen his love and mistook it for trickery.

“What do you mean you know where to find the answers?” Gwen sat on the edge of the bed and pushed Arthur’s hair away from his eyes. He looked deceptively peaceful, as if one good shake could wake him. “Why haven’t you done it before now?”

“It’s not going to be easy. We have to find Kilgarrah.” Merlin swayed again and Gwen arched an eyebrow at him.

“How are you going to find anything like that?” She was already standing, already grabbing his hand again when he began to protest. She cut him off. “You need food first, and then you can explain how a dragon is going to help anything.”

Soup with squishy carrots and boiled potatoes clogged up his throat and spoiled in his stomach, but he managed to choke down enough to satisfy Gwen. She shoved a glass of milk at him, thick and creamy and sweet, and waited until he was finished before she asked him again. He spent a full minute trying to find the words, but eventually he started to explain.

“Kilgarrah knows of magic I couldn’t dream of. He taught me to speak to the dragons, to know the dragon form.” Merlin shifted, feeling too full and on edge. “If he doesn’t know how to fix this then there’s no way.”

“You’re not telling me everything.” Gwen narrowed her eyes, nodding once when Merlin shifted his gaze away. “I may not have Sight like Morgana, but I know when something’s being hidden from me.” She crossed her arms and stared towards the fire that had been burning far too long to be natural.

“I have to go find him, Gwen. It’s the only way.” Merlin closed his eyes. “If we tell the people now, they’ll never trust magic.”

“They don’t have much of a choice, Merlin. The sorcerers haven’t left since they arrived. They’ve been in the market and the streets every day. People are scared. They don’t know if sorcerers are taking over.” Gwen sighed. “Morgana has tried to placate the people, but they know now. No one’s listening to her.”

“Arthur being hidden away isn’t helping.”

“That’s basically what I just said, Merlin.” Gwen shook her head again, but her tone was more tired than irritated. “Let’s get ready to go then. If you think you can make it, we can head out tonight.”

Merlin didn’t try to argue. It would be easier alone, but he was tired of hiding things. Kilgarrah was different now, separated from Merlin by years and magic. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember. Merlin knew the dragon mind, the distance and coldness and apathy that layered over everything.

He only shrugged at Gwen, pushing up from the chair by the fire and waving magic over his clothes. It was easy enough to clean them and head out.

“Do we need supplies?” Gwen rushed behind him.

“It’s not too far from here. I just have to hope Kilgarrah will answer my call.”

They didn’t speak again until the found Morgana, her cheeks red and hair disheveled.

“They are going mad out there. Tell me you have good news.” She smoothed down her dress and patted at her unruly curls and hid a sniffle behind her wrist. “They need Arthur back. They won’t accept anyone else.”

“Merlin thinks he knows where to find the cure.” Gwen gave a wan smile, holding her hand out to pull Morgana in. She placed a kiss against Morgana’s cheek and rested their foreheads together. “I’m going to go with him to find it.”

Morgana immediately deflated, but quickly recovered. She stiffened her jaw and nodded. “Be safe, Gwen.”

They shared another kiss and Merlin felt his insides twist in jealousy. He tried not to listen as they whispered their ‘I love yous.’

When he and Gwen headed out, it was with only the clothes on their back and Gwen’s sword in hand. Merlin stretched his magic out in front of him, wary and waiting for trouble. They stumbled through forests and over land, moving quicker and easier and farther than possible. Gwen did not mention when they crossed the next town or the vast forest before the sun set. Merlin didn’t feel the need to explain that he had used a spell, far more powerful than was wise. He didn’t need to explain the pounding panic and fear that made him hurry.

He just wanted Arthur back and safe.

He could feel Arthur disappearing in the sleep, sinking too far beneath the wave of dreams. He tried to whisper again, a sliver of magic to slip through Arthur’s thoughts, _“Just a little longer, Pendragon.”_

He couldn’t help but think that this had been a long time coming. Arthur had been disappearing long before the curse. He’d been sliding away from Uther’s blame and Morgana’s fear and the lies of a lifetime. Merlin should have done more, should have spoken up when he’d sensed it first.

_Are you ok, Pendragon? You feel barely there._

They had walked through the night and half the next day when Merlin finally stopped. Gwen flinched when she ran into his back, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Is this it? It doesn’t really look like much.”

Gwen was right. The field was mostly bare, hot and burned and dusty. A single stump sat in the middle, untouched by whatever had scorched the area. This was where Merlin felt the glimmer of magic, barely noticeable but strong all the same.

“Yes, this is it. Right over there.” He pointed towards the stump and moved towards it, stopping when Gwen walked with him. “It’s best if you stay back. I’m not sure how Kilgarrah will react to non-magic. And no offense, but you reek of Pendragon. A dragon is going to smell that a thousand miles away and not be happy about it.”

“If he can smell it a thousand miles away then I doubt me standing a few feet away is going to make a difference, but sure.” Gwen frowned and sat. “I’ll just wait then. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t spent three days in Arthur’s rooms.” Gwen scowled and blushed. “Not that it’s the same, of course, since… you know, he’s asleep and all. I mean, it’s not like—”

“Gwen, please. I need to concentrate.” He stepped unsteady onto the stump, tapping his foot as he tried to work out what to do. The magic swelled against his hands, spun in circles, everywhere but unusable in this state. Exhaustion throbbed from his bones and he beat against the magic in frustration. The reaction nearly knocked him back.

It poured through his lips and pried open his mouth and pulled words from his throat like vomit. It was violent and it was draining. He hadn’t been prepared, but he couldn’t regret it when he felt the thrum of wings cutting through the air.

Kilgarrah had been far away, and was cutting through miles and time to answer the call. Merlin couldn’t see him yet, but he could feel magic beating through the earth. Kilgarrah landed with a thud and a growl. Gwen scurried further back, her mouth open but silent.

Kilgarrah’s voice reverberated deep through the imprints of trees and dead roots and new life just breaking dirt. It shake Merlin and forced himself to stand straighter than his stooped shoulders cared for.

“You come seeking cures.” The dragon’s large snout leaned forward, sniffing and huffing too hot breath on Merlin’s skin. “You smell like Pendragon and wasting and death, young warlock.”

“I prefer to go by Merlin, thank you.” He yelled, feeling the words mangle on their way out until he didn’t recognize them anymore.

“You had no problem donning the dragon form in protection of your Prince, _Merlin_.” Kilgarrah coiled around the stump, large yellow eyes peering unblinking at Merlin’s horns. “Aithusa’s mark is still fresh.”

“It was a bit of an emergency.” Merlin shifted on his feet, uncomfortable under scrutiny.

“It was as it was meant to be. Uther caused Camelot to fall, as I knew he would.”

“It is not Uther who has been affected. Uther died in the attack and he’s experiencing none of the ramifications of his actions. It is Arthur and the people who suffer. People like my mother, Hunith, and sorcerers who are too weak to fight against Camelot. People like Arthur, who fought for magic, are the ones being punished by your curse.”

Gwen jumped at that, her eyes switching from Kilgarrah to Merlin in confusion. It would be his luck that these were the words not hidden in the dragon language.

“You speak of Hunith. How does she fare now? Is she hurt?” Kilgarrah had stepped back, eyes narrowed.

“My mother is fine, but she wants peace. And peace is impossible without Arthur.”

“Arthur was raised by Uther. He could not be so different. Our kind will be better without him.”

Merlin shook, furious and scared.

“What does he mean our kind? Merlin?” Gwen was standing now, inching towards him. Kilgarrah pivoted her direction and growled.

“Do not approach, Pendragon.”

“She is no more a Pendragon than I.” He raised his arms, pushing forward magic that was drenched in Arthur, in the feel of Arthur’s heart under his hand and in Arthur’s blood pumping, in Arthur’s lungs moving in rhythm. “Gwen and I are the same. We have loved what Uther wouldn’t.”

Kilgarrah snorted, pulling back his great, lizard head to let out a barking laugh. It is wry and dark and Merlin was certain not at all full of any good humor. “I did not expect this to be what the prophecy spoke of.”

“It was your prophecy. You’re the one that put this fate on me.” Merlin screamed again, and this time the words morphed until Gwen looked at him with fear. Kilgarrah hissed and moved back, hunching below the knot of his wings on his back.

“I said merely that Emrys and the Once and Future King would return Camelot to glory. I was never certain how, warlock. That fate has been up to you to shape.”

“You will call me Merlin, Kilgarrah!” Merlin shouted, hands up and wrestling the magic around him under control. “You may have given up Balinor, but I did not follow you!”

Kilgarrah hissed, nostrils flaring and claws flexing itno the ash. “You would not dare command me so.”

“I do. Tell me what the cure for the curse is. You are the only one who knows.” Merlin’s eyes glowed gold, his horns shining and bright.

“Are you prepared, Merlin, to hear of your fate?” Kilgarrah lay low, still smug despite his deference. “Are you prepared to hear how Arthur’s hard heart will force you to fail?”

“Now, dragon.” The words slid with cold power, a demand simple and powerful as only a Dragonlord could give. Kilgarrah’s fire rumbled low and threatening, but Merlin stood firm and Kilgarrah did not attack.

“It is simple, really. In order to break the eternal sleep, one would have to love Arthur.” Kilgarrah paused leveling his giant body so that he was squinting into Merlin’s eyes. “And in return, Arthur would have to love them, more than death itself. More than the peace of dreams.”

Merlin cursed. He cursed and he screamed and he yelled, even as Kilgarrah flew away cackling.

“Merlin?” Gwen was at the stump, pulling him down where he’d begun to sway again. “Merlin, what happened? What’s the cure?”

“Didn’t you hear?” He could barely breathe through the words, through the realization of the true power of this curse.

Arthur, who had never been satisfied with Camelot. Who worked until he could collapse without hesitation into his bed.

Arthur, who had been hated and blamed for all his life for things he couldn’t possibly shoulder. Who only knew his mother’s comfort in dreams.

Arthur, who had been disappearing for years. Who sunk into his sleep. 

It wasn’t fair, and Merlin wanted none of it. It could have been simple. It should have been as simple as Kilgarrah removing the curse, the curse that he’d placed when he was still Balinor.

Not for the first time, Merlin’s resentment burned along his skin and bristled in his blood. Hot tears trailed down his face. It was impossible. There was no way that Arthur would love him. They hadn’t known each other long enough. Merlin had lied, had told half-truths until he’d had Arthur in knots. Merlin was a broken reality that could not compete with the perfect perception of dreams.

It was no wonder, then, that Merlin had felt Arthur slipping further away with every day of sleep.

“We have to get back, Gwen. We have to get back now. I don’t… I don’t know if I can save him.” His voice broke over the confession, but he hurried anyway.

He held her arm as trees and underbrush rushed past him. He folded the two places together, crossing the towns and trees around Camelot with lurching, impossible steps. His magic was quickly fading, overused and unrested. He only managed to collapse in front of the gates as the sun was setting.

“Merlin, what is the cure to the curse?”

“Love greater than dreams.” He sagged against the wall. Black hair clung wetly to his head. He reeked of sweat and dirt and blood. He was certainly no vision fit for adoring.

“What? A lot of people love Arthur, that doesn’t make any sense.” Gwen slung a shoulder under his arm. She understood his need to continue without him having to say anything.

“No, you don’t understand. It has to be mutual. A love stronger than whatever reality his mind has come up with in his sleep. Whatever perfect world he’s created.” Merlin’s stomach sank as he thought it over. “He has to decide to leave all that behind for love. And he probably doesn’t even realize it’s a dream.”

“What kind of cure is that? That sounds ridiculous.” Gwen shook her head, but her grip on his torso had loosened. “How are we even supposed to determine something like that.”

“I have a bit of an idea. It’ll only work with magic though.” Merlin forced himself to support his own weight. His limbs felt like limp noodles. “We need to get to Arthur’s room.”

“Merlin, are you ok?” Gwen sounded worried. The edge of suspicion had left her voice sometime in the forest. He wondered how much she’d understood and how much had been hidden by the dragon tongue.

“I’ll be fine. We don’t have time to worry about me.” He dragged himself to the stairs and clutched at the wall for dear life. He hoped he could coax enough magic forward for this last spell.

Gwen raced past him and through the door. He could hear her calling Morgana all down the corridor. He groaned when his leg gave out and he crashed against the steps.

“Merlin, stop being an idiot.” Morgana was by his side before he’d pushed himself up. She hooked one arm under his, like Gwen had, and half carried him up the rest of the stairs. “Why on earth would you push yourself like this? I haven’t seen a body this exhausted since Uther’s last war.”

“Yes, well, I’m in a bit of a hurry. If you could,” He gestured in the general direction of Arthur’s room and Morgana nodded.

“It’ll be ok, Merlin.”

“See that in a vision, did you?” He could feel his legs moving underneath him. Sort of. He was at least half sure he was helping still.

“No, but I didn’t need to.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Arthur’s door loomed still farther ahead. He was certain that they should have been there by now. He could feel Arthur, so far away and buried beneath layers and layers of dream.

“He has never looked at someone like he looks at you. Not even on that first day.” Black curls brushed against his cheek as she hauled him along. “I think it will be less terrible than you imagine.”

“I’ve lied to him, Morgana.”

“He’ll understand. You tried to tell the truth.” She practically shoved him into the door so she could fumble with the keys.

“Not hard enough.” He stumbled through, catching himself on still wobbly legs.

“Stop worrying about that now. You’ve got to save my brother.” Gwen was already in the room, pressing a wet cloth against Arthur’s head.

“Ok. I need you guys to leave. I’ll have to concentrate,” he said. Morgana and Gwen exchanged looks, but left regardless.

He ran a finger along Arthur’s cheek and arms. He hadn’t moved since Merlin clunked him onto the bed, his arms still at his sides, his back still pressed firm against the sheets. Even his head faced the same way. Merlin felt tears well in his eyes again, but he brushed them away.

He climbed into the bed, pressing himself against Arthur until there wasn’t a part of Arthur that he could reach that he wasn’t touching. He let what was left of his strength seep into his magic, seep into the golden thread that still connected them.

He could feel Arthur beneath his pulse and blood and bone, buried deep. Merlin whispered into what was left, calling for him.

_Pendragon, come back to me. I’m waiting for you._

He could feel the peace that smothered the part of Arthur who wanted to answer. The peace was tempting, like a warm blanket in winter or a large meal when one was starving. It enticed and tricked and held, but Merlin could still feel Arthur. There was hope.

_Pendragon, come back. Come home._

And then, like water through his fingers, Arthur retreated. He disappeared for a moment beneath the tide of perfect reality. Pain like a burn, hurt like a knife on the skin made Merlin jump and gasp and nearly break. Then Merlin found him again, tenuous, shimmering so that he disappeared and reappeared in flashes.

Merlin sat up and stretched across, face wet with failure. He pressed his lips against Arthur’s. A single kiss, a single touch to say good bye.

_Oh, Arthur, you’re still so far away. I love you._

And then the thread disappeared.

***

Arthur felt cold on his face, though the rest of him was incredibly warm. The dark was heavy and pressing, in a pleasant way. He could hear the echoes of his mother and the whisper of love from somewhere far from him. It seemed to come from beyond the pleasant darkness, from further than the trust and comfort and home of this nowhere. It called to him in a familiar voice that sent chills over his skin.

It took the second call of Pendragon for him to recognize Merlin. Merlin, who hadn’t been in this place. Merlin, who hadn’t found him here. His heart sped and the dark swallowed him. But he heard a whisper, a calling.

Merlin was waiting for him.

And the next whisper was his name and a confession. A truth. And Arthur came back through the dark.

He found the world had become an incredibly rank, wet place while he’d been away. Then he realized it was just Merlin. “Get off me, you idiot, you smell like you haven’t had a bath in days.”

Merlin gasped, and someone knocked against the door. Arthur was pretty sure that Morgana and Gwen hadn’t made it very far away. “You have seen better days, Merlin. I order you to bathe. Right now. Somehow.”

“The clothes were just cleaned this morning, prat.” But Merlin was breathless and hiccupping.

“Well, you weren’t. That much is obvious.” But he grabbed Merlin’s neckerchief and pulled him down again. Merlin still smelled deplorable, but Arthur could stand it long enough to feel that mouth on his again. “You’re lucky I love you too, or you’d be in the stocks for a week for stinking up my bed.”

Merlin’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, his grin interrupting their kiss. “Well, next time I won’t save your sorry arse, Sire.”

“I had it handled.” Merlin laughed at him in a bit of a desperate way. “We still have stuff to work out, Merlin, but at the moment,” Arthur dragged Merlin down to the covers. “I plan to scare my sister away from that door.”

“Gross, Arthur!” Morgana shouted, but she and Gwen could be heard giggling as they moved away.

“There’s still a lot to explain, you know, Arthur. Kilgarrah is my dad.” Merlin moaned when Arthur pulled back his horns and nipped along his neck. “And the horns are probably permanent.”

“Good, I like them. And that’s very strange Merlin, that you would want to talk about your dad right now. Of all times.” Arthur pushed Merlin’s shirt up and wrinkled his nose. Merlin _really_ would need a bath after this. Maybe he’d let Arthur pick out some scented soaps.

“And I didn’t meant to lie to you, I really didn’t. I was just scared.” Arthur pressed his tongue against Merlin’s nipple and Merlin squirmed beneath him. “I really don’t think you’re taking this conversation seriously enough.”

“Considering I was literally just saved by _true love’s kiss_ , I think I’m entitled to wring some enjoyment out of this.” Arthur rolled his hips against Merlin’s and grinned when Merlin pushed back. “I mean, really, you’d think I was some kind of princess or something.”

“There’s nothing wrong with princesses.” Merlin scowled briefly, but when Arthur hooked his arms around Merlin’s shoulders and rolled his hips again, the scowl disappeared.

“Except I’m not one.” Arthur kissed up his neck, grinning when he finally found Merlin’s mouth again. “Now shut up and kiss me, idiot. And then a bath afterwards.”

***  
Uther was buried with ceremony, but without honor. Cleaning up the castle and the town was difficult, but it provided Merlin and the other sorcerers with opportunities to show that they could be trusted. That they fought only for freedom and for safety.

It took several months, and a lot of arguing, but eventually Merlin and Arthur brought magic back to Camelot. They were sometimes called Emrys and the Once and Future King.  
More often they could be heard calling each other “Prat” and “Idiot” and “Git” and “Useless” but every insult came with a higher degree of affection. The handfasting surprised exactly none of the five guests in attendance.

Gwaine was sorely disappointed to find the only two ladies there to be entirely uninterested, but Percy didn’t seem to mind the idea. Leon only chuckled and turned red and slid away when it was all over.

With Morgana and Merlin to mediate the magical affairs and Gwen and Arthur to organize battle plans and city rebuilds, Camelot became a legend.

Arthur refused to tell the story of how it was all due to true loves kiss.

He still wasn’t a princess, no matter what Gwen and Merlin said.

Gwaine made sure the story got told anyway.  
  
_So, loves, I worked REALLY HARD on this story for you guys. I did an outline and everything. I couldn’t resist giving it that nice Disney wrap up (since it was inspired by both Maleficent and Sleeping Beauty, albeit only very, very loosely.) Please, if you enjoyed the story, review! I would love to know what you liked about it and if you have any favorite parts. Even if you have some constructive criticism to give, that would be lovely!_


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